


Coming Home

by Pale Rider (Boothros)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boothros/pseuds/Pale%20Rider
Summary: Bodie is devastated when Doyle turns his back on CI5 in favour of the glitzy new life that he’s chosen. With a new job and a new love, Doyle seems to have it all, but nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors …





	

 

Bodie walked into the rest room. An air of despondency circulated around the place. Dust motes played in the air. The tea urn steamed gently as it always did. The scene beyond the windows showed as grey and uninviting as it always had. Bodie’s eyes slid as they always would to the long legs and slender hips of his partner.

“We on then, mate?”

“No still on standby, Ray. Want tea?”

“Yes please if you’re making, 3~7.” interjected Murphy who Bodie had thought asleep.

Sighing, Bodie proceeded to prepare beverages for three.

“Good job really,” Doyle muttered. I’ve stayed still for so long now, I don’t think I fancy movin’ ever again.”

The lull was getting to them. Trained for action, doing nothing was affecting them all. It was particularly affecting Bodie who could switch off his feelings and desires when his energy was being put to better use through work. Seeing Doyle draped against a doorway or stretched along a couch sent his imagination into overdrive.

The tea seemed to revive Doyle, for all his misgivings. Ignoring the slumbering Murphy, with cup still in hand, he hustled Bodie back into the corridor.

“Listen, mate you up for an evening at mine? If I stump up for some take-out and get a few beers in that is?”

“You sure the boredom hasn’t got to you, Doyle?” Bodie suggested theatrically.

“You know bloody well I pay my fair share, Bodie! Anyway I wanna talk to you. Serious like.”

Bodie nearly choked on the last of his tea leaves. Doyle’s suggestion of ‘a talk’ could mean anything from Bodie’s appraisal of some nameless bird, to an in-depth discussion on the meaning, or worth, of Doyle’s life. Had Bodie been given the chance of simply eating, drinking and enjoying the view, the invitation would have been god sent. He knew he wouldn’t refuse however. As 4~5’s partner, not only was he protected by the best in the squad, he was also privy to every whim, whine and woe that Doyle could offer, much to the relief of everyone else. Resigned to his fate of listening ear, he arranged to meet Doyle at eight.

Released from standby an hour later, Bodie made his way home, paying little attention to the evening traffic. Being around Doyle was getting harder. It was surely only a matter of time before his own wondering eyes got him into trouble. He’d thought countless times of telling the man how he felt, but the imagined outcomes were bleak. He could picture every scenario from Doyle laughing at him to punching his lights out and when push came to shove, he didn’t think he had the nerve to face either. Something had to be done however because deep down, he was desperately unhappy. He hadn’t properly dated in months. He seemed to have lost the art of normal conversation with all but Doyle. He rarely went anywhere or did anything that wasn’t connected to work and was in fact, becoming rather a recluse. Relishing the idea of Doyle’s company even if he _was_ in for an ear bashing, he showered, dressed in carefully considered clothes and grabbed the two bottles of Chablis which had resided in his fridge for the past month. He made himself sit out the interminable wait until he could decently leave, not wanting to arrive ridiculously early. Finally he made the short journey, driving carefully and showing uncharacteristic consideration for other road users. He arrived at his partner's flat just after eight offering bottles and smiles. The smells from within informed him that curry had been delivered and Doyle distractedly ushered him into the small dining area, accepting the wine without really looking at it. Bodie knew that his painstaking ablutions had also passed the man by - using too much expensive aftershave was obviously not going to be mocked on this occasion.

Doyle, freshly damp from the shower, still looked like a disaster zone. All barefoot and shirt tails, he tugged at his wet curls, wincing at their lack of normal give. Aching to watch the alluring show, Bodie nevertheless recognised his partner looking stressed and stepped in to help him.

“You okay, mate? You just wanna just sit down with a beer for a minute, you said you wanted to talk and you look a bit hyped up there?”

“No, talk can wait, Bodie, let’s eat.”

Doyle continued his manic circuit of the kitchen gathering the basic equipment needed to eat a takeaway as if it were a major operation. Though not particularly hungry, Bodie resigned himself to watching the scene play out. Doyle had something on his mind and Bodie would not be party to it until Doyle was good and ready.

The delicious food seemed to take an earthly time to eat. Bodie made sure to keep his partner’s glass regularly charged and finally the expensive vintage seemed to give Doyle cause to relax. Realising that he could now take some control between the giggly and morose stages, Bodie halted attempts at clearing up and a mellow Doyle complied.

“Right. You wanted to talk. Something’s obviously bothering you, so talk.”

Doyle threw his head back against the sofa in resignation. His drying hair fanned against the rough fabric and he reminded Bodie of an angel.

“I’ve got something to say to you, Bodie. You might not like it. You probably won’t understand it and you’ll probably want to hit me because of it, but you of all people, deserve to know. I’m just gonna try and explain it if that’s okay. If you’re gonna hit me, could you at least let me tell you it all first? I can’t hit you back. That nice wine you got has made me a bit fuzzy.”

Bodie smiled at the empty bottle of ‘nice wine’ that had cost more than a week’s pay, which Doyle would never know and Bodie would never care about. Gently murmuring encouragement whilst trying not to distract, Bodie leant back and prepared to listen. Doyle gathered himself, shook his head as if to throw off his final demons and began to speak.

“Bodie, I know this might sound a bit weird, but how would you feel … I mean what would you think if I was to tell you … well to tell you that I liked other men? I mean that I was, well you know _into_ them? In a ... in a sexual sort of sense?”

Bodie recognised the opening of the confession and his heart bloomed. He wouldn’t tease though. There’d be plenty of time to laugh at Doyle’s stilting revelations when they were old and grey. Nodding, he indicated that his partner carry on.

“I probably should have told you. No I _should_ have told you. I was just worried you wouldn’t want to have anything more to do with me if I did.”

“Why would you think that, Ray?”

“Well it’s not everybody who’d welcome the news that their partner’s queer is it?”

“I’m not ‘everybody’ though am I?”

“Er no, I guess not.”

Doyle sounded faintly surprised that his head was still attached to his shoulders and his eyes widened when Bodie bade him to go on.

“Don’t worry, I’ve hardly done anything at all since I’ve been in CI5. I didn’t do much when I was on the force. I know that this will cost me my job but to go back to skulking around like I did when I when I was a copper terrifies me, Bodie. Trouble is, it isn’t gonna go away. It’s become more important to me as I’ve got older that I live the life that _I_ want to. To love the person that I choose to rather than just be seen with the people that the job allows me to. I could put up with it all before, but …”

“But what, Ray?” Bodie asked gently.

“But I just can’t bear it anymore. I’ve fallen in love see? Bodie this affects you more than anyone as my partner, but I _am_ in love and that’s become more important to me than the job.”

It was only high days and holidays that Bodie felt he had the right to touch and get away with it, but almost without thinking he embraced his shaky partner. He nestled his nose deep into fragrant copper tresses inhaling the essence of the man. Murmuring assurances, he could feel the hammering of his own heart as they clung together. As they almost reluctantly parted, his growing smile faded when he saw the tears glistening in Doyle’s eyes.

“Hey come on, Ray, it’s fine, you do have the right to be happy you know! I can’t believe that you thought I’d hit you. If truth be told, I’m pleased you’ve been so honest!”

Doyle sighed, relieved beyond measure. He looked up at his partner and gently traced his finger down Bodie’s jaw.

“Oh Bodie. I should have known better than to doubt you of all people, you know me better than I know meself!”

Bodie wondered if it was too soon to lean in for a first kiss, but it had been Doyle’s evening and Bodie was perfectly happy to take his cue from him. Doyle however had seemed to escape to his own private world and Bodie didn’t think that a little prompting would hurt.

“So, Ray, you said you were in love?”

The next three little words that Doyle said would change Bodie’s life forever.

“His name’s Sam.”

~~~oOo~~~

Doyle looked at Sam Hayter, anguished.

“I don’t see the problem here, Ray, I really don’t! We’re good together aren’t we? It’s you that says you want a _real_ relationship, so what are we waiting for?”

“I’m sorry, Sam. It’s just such a big change, that’s all.”

“Only for the better the way I see it. You said you love me. Is that still true?”

“Course it’s true!”

“So why don’t you want to move in with me? Are you doubting how much I love you back?”

“No it’s nothing like that. It’s just the job situation, that’s all.”

“Ah yes the mysterious job that I’m not allowed to know anything about!”

“There’s nothing to know, Sam! I’m just a civil servant who does things related to security. Apart from that, it’s completely boring, just like I told you.”

“If it’s that ‘boring’ why are you so intent on staying?”

“I’m not! It’s just hard, you know? I trained for quite a long time to get the job and it’ll be strange to think that I won’t be doing it anymore.”

“Well if they’re that fucking homophobic, I’m surprised you want to work for them at all! And as for the weird hours they seem to want you to keep, it can only be a good thing you getting out.”

“I know, and I know that you’re right, Sam. It’s just over the years I’ve got quite good at what I do. I feel I’d be letting people down if I quit.”

“What about me though, Ray? Aren’t you letting me down by forcing us to live in the shadows all the time? It’s almost like you’re ashamed of me or something!”

“No! Of course I’m not ashamed of you or what we’ve got together. I’m just a bit jittery about life changing so much. I always knew I’d quit sooner or later, it’s just come a bit sooner than I thought and I think I’ll kinda miss it.”

“I bet not many civil servants say that, Ray. You’re not a copper or something are you?”

“No, no I’m not. Would it make a difference if I was?”

“Well I won’t say I wouldn’t mind peeling a uniform off you, but most of the police I’ve come across are just fascist pigs, Ray. You _have_ hinted that sometimes your job is dangerous and that I’m safer not knowing anything about it. Why would I want you to stay in something that might puts you at risk and obviously frowns upon our lifestyle at the same time?”

“I know, Sam. I just wonder what I’d do next. What I’d be any good at?”

“How many times have I told you, come and work for me!”

“It’s a kind offer, Sam but what would I know about being a photographer’s assistant? Besides, if you were to pay me, I’d kinda feel like a kept man!”

“Believe you me, Ray anyone that works for me earns their money fair and square. There’d be no special favours just ‘cos we’re in bed together.”

“I dunno, Sam. I don’t think you should mix business and pleasure. I told my work partner about us the other day. I mean, we've been close for years but as soon as I told him I’d fallen in love, he seemed to distance himself from me. I just think that work messes things up between people.”

“Well this ‘partner’ of yours doesn’t sound like much of a mate anyway if he doesn’t want you to be happy.”

“Oh Bodie's alright. I s’pose he gets a bit over protective sometimes, but he DOES want me to be happy. He just doesn’t want to see me fuck up, that’s all.”

“Ah forget him, Ray! If living the life of Riley with me, with an easy job thrown in if you want it is his idea of ‘fucking up’, then I don’t think you really need to waste any more time worrying your pretty little head over what he thinks, do you?”

“Perhaps you’re right. It's just I just wouldn’t want us falling out at work and then bringing it home with us. It just all feels a bit one sided. I mean this is a fabulous house and I know that you’re great at what you do, but I don’t know how to compete with all that. What exactly would I be contributing if we worked together? What could I do any better than someone who had all the proper experience?”

“Ray for a start it’s not a competition. I admit, the main reason I want you to work for me is that I want you to stay with me. You seem so bloody worried about getting a job and I want to take that worry away from you. Having said that, you’re a bright lad. It’s nothing you couldn’t learn if you wanted to.”

“But you’ve already got all the people around you that you need. You'd either have to lay someone else off or invent a job for me to do. I can’t see me being very popular if I became your right hand man through nepotism.”

“Oh, Ray, Ray you do like to worry everything to death don’t you? Look I’ve got two pretty successful businesses, the photography and the gallery. Now young Jamie has managed the gallery for me for the last few years but he’s sitting his finals. Once he’s qualified, he’ll be off and I’ll need someone to run it for me. It might not be as glamourous as the photography circuit but it’s honest work and I _will_ need someone to do it if that might be more up your street?”

“You think I could do something like that?”

“Why not, it’s easy enough. I know Jamie’s my nephew and he’s due a first in fine arts, but between you and me he’s as thick as a plank. I still pay him a pound an hour though and he hasn’t got half the brain that you have.”

“What would I have to do exactly?”

“Well, you’d have to open and close the place and keep it clean and tidy. The window display is changed every few days but the collection itself is changed once a month. The new works would be entirely your own choice. You’d have to learn quickly if your selections turned people off. Customers don’t return if you insult their tastes, but you’d soon get a sense of what sells or repels. I do like to keep a small display of photos in the centre of the gallery. I’m not expecting many to sell, I only put the best on display and only the very rich could afford them. You’d be responsible for the printing and display of them. At the end of the day, you’d have to sell paintings to those that want to buy them. You wouldn't be a salesman as such. If you’ve made the right choices, the paintings will sell themselves. You'd need to be unobtrusive, polite and congratulatory. There would be plenty of down time and you could spend it like Jamie does, painting if you wanted. The gallery would be entirely your own project. I might own it but I haven’t the time to even visit it nowadays, it’s just a little money spinner that sits bubbling away on the back burner. Say if you fancy the idea, Ray, as I said, I will need someone.”

“I DO fancy the idea, Sam. I fancy it very much in fact! Far more than I fancy traipsing here there and everywhere looking like a complete prat.”

“I’d never let you look like a prat, Ray, you know that. The thing is if you weren’t working alongside me, we’d have a lot of time apart. You know how often I’m away on assignment. You’d be here a lot without me. Would you be alright with that?”

“I think I could manage, I mean imagine the homecomings! No, I really think I could apply myself to the gallery in a way I never could travelling the circuit. If you’re sure I could really do it, then I’ll resign tomorrow!”

“Ray, you could do it in your sleep. It’s not quite what I had in mind for us but if it makes you happy, then it makes me happy. Ring me tomorrow when you’ve told your boss where to get off.”

“Thanks, Sam. Oh shit, I haven’t got to call you ‘Sir’ now that you’re my new guv’nor have I?”

“Not unless you want to. If you wish to show your appreciation however, then you better strip off and spread your legs.”

“No sooner said than done, Guv!”

Doyle smiled to himself as Sam Hayter pumped in and out of him. He could see a future for himself. A future that didn’t include muck and bullets and emptiness. All he could see as Sam fucked him almost to the point of soreness, was a future filled with love.

~~~oOo~~~

Doyle had lost count of the times he’d been the recipient of Cowley’s gimlet stare. Even when the old man was pleased he had the uncanny knack of making it appear otherwise. Doyle had certainly not said anything in the past half hour to please him, so he sat with the sword of Damocles that was Cowley’s opinion hanging over his head. Finally, Cowley sighed irritably before speaking.

“This er, man that you’ve involved yourself with, 4~5. It’s not a fellow agent is it?”

Doyle looked scandalised.

“No, Sir of course it’s not! Whatever gave you that idea?”.

“Oh just wondering out loud, Doyle. You _do_ remember threatening to resign when you were seeing Miss Holly? How can you reassure me that this isn’t a similar situation - you just jumping in blindly like you did then?”

“With respect, this is different, Sir. I think CI5 treated Anne Holly very badly. The difference is that this time I’m not prepared to let that happen. I’m entitled to a private life and if resignation is the only way to only way to realise that entitlement, then so be it.”

“Have you informed 3~7 of your plans, Doyle?”

“He knows the bare bones, Sir.”

“And what was his reaction?”

“Difficult to say, Sir. He seemed supportive at first, convinced me I was doing the right thing in following my heart.”

“Then something changed?”

“I don’t really know but I guess it must have done. I suppose he’s had time to think it over and decided he’s not as supportive as he thought he was.”

“Have you any idea why that might be, 4~5?”

“None, Sir. I suppose it could have occurred to him that he’d have to break in a new partnership? Maybe he’d just remembered that he’d have to buy his own sandwiches? Either way he’s been cool towards me since. I still value and trust his attributes, so you haven’t to worry about us being partnered until I leave.”

“Doyle did it never occur to you that the organisation could have stood the idea of you being involved in a homosexual relationship before you chose to tender your resignation?”

“I never even considered the possibility, Sir. I know how the old network operates. I’m not from a military background but the police force was much the same. It might well all go on as long as nobody ever gets to learn of it. Well I’m not prepared to hide in the shadows any more. I’ve hidden myself away all my adult life and that’s been a mistake.”

“So do you feel that you’ve lost all your ideals, 4~5?”

“What in being involved with another man? No with respect, I bloody well don’t, Sir!”

“Och, Doyle I didn’t mean that at all. What I meant was that a character like yours is hard to come by. To have someone that does the job that you have done yet still care so deeply is a rarity. I find the fact that you can walk away from your position in this organisation, your basic need to do good and foremost your partnership with Bodie, a concern.”

“Sir as I’ve said, I can’t let a government institution rule my life any more. I _do_ care, of course I do, but every agent has to either retire or die sometime. As for my partnership with Bodie … Sir if you’d ever known what I’d felt for Bodie, you would have kicked me out years ago.”

“Yet you’re still prepared to walk away?”

“Sir with the VERY greatest respect, I don’t really want to talk about this anymore. If you’ve got some hair brained scheme about getting Bodie to talk me into staying then you best forget it, it wouldn’t be fair on him. We have different agendas now.”

Cowley permitted himself a tight little smile. Plying Doyle with several serves of his finest malt had certainly loosened the man’s tongue. The fact that it was too little too late would play on his mind for a long time.

The next morning Bodie sat ramrod straight in front of his controller.

“Bodie, 4~5 officially tendered his resignation yesterday. I had no suitable counter argument for his decision and it was agreed that he would leave at the end of this month.”

Bodie sat as if made of stone though Cowley knew he had absorbed the words.

“If there’s nothing else, Sir, I have reports to write.”

“Aye. We’ll talk later about your unfortunately new found position.”

Bodie rose to leave, his face a mask.

As he touched the polished door handle, Cowley spoke again.

“I’m sorry lad.” was all he said.

~~~oOo~~~

As any news was hot news within CI5, the news that 4~5 was leaving was positively flaming. Both Bodie and Doyle were unprepared for the attention it caused. Doyle was uncomfortably embarrassed that it seemed his presence would be missed. Bodie couldn’t to be questioned about his opinion on the matter without appearing bitter. Finally in an effort to escape everyone else, they found themselves fleeing together to the sanctuary of a backstreet pub and for the first time in days, they talked.

“I love him, Bodie. It’s as simple as that.”

“Does _he_ love you back?”

“Of course he does!”

“And how long have you known him exactly?”

“Long enough, Bodie. Long enough for him to ask me to move in with him. Long enough to trust me with his art gallery. Long enough for me to know that I’m doing the right thing.”

“How did you meet him?”

“I met up with an old art college mate a few weeks ago. He’d just finished a new collection and Sam was exhibiting it for him.”

“Ah, so it HAS only been weeks then ...” Bodie jumped in.

“Oh, Bodie for heaven’s sake! Look I’m sure about him, alright! To be honest with you it’s just such a relief not to be living a lie anymore. The first time we, well you know, _did_ anything, for me it was like coming home.”

“So, you’re getting a place together then are you?”

“No he’s already got a house.”

“So you’re already in debt to him then?”

“Christ, Bodie you can be a cynical bastard! What do you expect me to do? Say ‘Sorry Sam but I don’t want to move into your lovely house as I’d much rather we traipsed around looking for a pokey little flat instead’?”

“So where is this ‘lovely house’ then?”

“Surbiton.”

“Oh good grief, Doyle how the hell could you think that you’d be happy somewhere like that? Next think you’ll be telling me that you’re planning on buying a Morris Marina and hosting Tupperware parties. Get real, mate you might be many things but I never saw a Stepford wife as one of them!”

Doyle looked at Bodie, hurt.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bodie. Once a guttersnipe always one, eh?” he said quietly.

“Sorry, mate.” replied Bodie realising how much the comment must have upset his friend.

If Cowley was right and it all went ahead, his remaining time simply sharing a pint with Doyle might be severely limited. He didn’t want the memories of their friendship to be tarnished. At the same time his heart was being crushed. Stoic on the surface, whenever his relentless conscious reminded him that Doyle was leaving, a tide of sickness washed over him. Bodie had rarely felt really sorry for himself. His only true wish was to see Ray Doyle happy, but the path to that happiness seemed to mean casting the partnership aside and throwing 3~7 away with it.

“So when do I get to meet him then?” he asked Doyle sadly.

“I don’t think there’s really any point in that happening, do you, Bodie?”

“Why not? You worried I won’t be posh enough for him or something?”

“Oh don’t be such a prat, Bodie. The disapproval is coming off you in waves. It’s obvious you’ve already made up your mind that you’re not gonna like him, so what’s the point in you meetin’ him?”

Bodie conceded the point. He hadn’t meant to be so nasty but it was unlike Doyle to be insensitive to how Bodie was feeling. Normally the little bugger was like a terrier digging for bones when he thought that Bodie was worried about something. Now that Bodie was heading towards crisis, Diligent Doyle was nowhere to be seen.

Doyle broke into Bodie’s reverie by offering to stand another round.

“Look, we’re going out tomorrow night, some press launch or something, but we're having drinks first at Rozel’s wine bar. If checking him out is that important to you, then meet me there at six. We’ll be getting a cab at eight though, just so you’re warned.”

Though Bodie accepted, he sighed inwardly. An entire weekend off was such a rarity in CI5 that he could remember every one he’d ever had. The vast majority of them had been spent with Doyle.

~~~oOo~~~

On Friday morning from an HQ phone, Doyle called Sam Hayter.

“Sam what’s the dress code for tomorrow night?”

“Smart casual, Ray”

“Oh right. Yeah I can do that.”

“Er, that doesn’t mean jeans, Ray, okay?”

“No course not, I knew that! By the way, I’ll have a mate with me in the wine bar if that’s alright. It’s only my partner Bodie. We like to have a drink at the end of the week. That’s not a problem is it?”

“No, its fine, Ray. Long as he realises he can’t come with us to the press night, that’s by invitation only.”

“Yeah course, Sam, he knows we’re going on somewhere after.”

“Cool. You staying over?”

“Er, yeah sure!”

“Great. About time we got to wake up together! Now I gotta go, Ray, I’ll see you at seven in the bar.”

Doyle bade his goodbyes and returned to the files which might as well have been written in ancient Greek. He should have been linking the clues which were for once, so apparent a child could have found them. He could have been wrapping up an easy case before going in search of tea. Instead, he was pondering what on earth ‘smart casual’ meant.

By lunchtime Doyle was a bag of excitable nerves. He’d mentally catalogued his entire wardrobe and finally come up with a few pieces which might go well enough together without him having to resort to shopping. He was agonising over whether he should wear a tie. He knew that if he wanted, Bodie could have him looking like a fashion model in minutes but it somehow seemed unfair to ask.

A dreary afternoon briefing did nothing to quell Doyle’s skittishness. As Cowley droned on, he imagined himself waking in Sam’s bed for the first time. He’d been promised this weekend off for weeks. As far as he was concerned, Surbiton was out of R/T range which was just as well as he planned to leave the damned thing at home. If he searched deeply enough within himself, this made him feel as guilty as hell, but he was after all, leaving CI5 and it was about time that he started to think like it. He was also about to introduce his lover to his most treasured friend. Somehow it seemed more important to him that Sam liked Bodie rather than the other way around. He felt a sinking feeling whenever he thought of Bodie. Losing Bodie’s friendship seemed inevitable even if it felt like losing a limb. There could never be the future in that quarter that Doyle craved. He needed love like he needed food and Bodie would never love him. It still felt like a physical pain when he was honest enough to face all that he was wilfully waking away from.

At six on Saturday the partners approached the bar in Rozel’s from different sides. Telepathically aware of each other’s presence they both turned and smiled at the same moment. Bodie tried hard not to double take the view of his partner. Doyle looked fabulous.

Doyle felt self-conscious but thankfully Bodie didn’t seem to want to make him suffer for it. Taking advantage of the offers of Beaujolais Nouveau Day, they bought two bottles and collected two glasses. Neither were used to drinking wine so early in the evening and by the time Sam Hayter showed his face they were both giggling like idiots.

Sam approached Doyle from behind, put his hands on his shoulders and proceeded to kiss him behind his ear. To Doyle’s credit, he didn’t leap out of his skin, but his cheeks blushed nearly as red as the young wine. Bodie felt the stares towards their table and heard the odd muted whistle that was directed their way. He wanted to kill Sam Hayter with his bare hands for embarrassing his partner, but kept his cool for Doyle’s sake.

“Sam, Hi! Go and get a glass, we’ve got Beaujolais on the go here!”

Hayter returned with a glass and another bottle, whilst Bodie watched every minute move that he made. Within seconds Bodie had the measure of the man. Hayter was reasonably good looking but paled into insignificance compared to Doyle. Rich obviously and loving it, the cut of the suit, the glint of the watch, the shine on the shoes all screamed ‘dickhead with too much money’ to Bodie. Ray however seemed mesmerised and Bodie behaved with calm politeness.

All talk of CI5 evaporated with the addition of Hayter’s presence. Bodie tried a few opening gambits at general conversation but it soon became obvious that Sam Hayter was much happier talking about himself. Before too long, Bodie found himself a vaguely interested onlooker. He applied himself to matters of wine appreciation wishing that he’d had chance to eat before leaving home.

Eight o’clock arrived surprisingly quickly and a pre-ordered taxi arrived on the dot to collect Hayter and Doyle. Doyle was disappointed to leave the relaxed atmosphere of the bar. He was pleasantly tipsy and enjoying the company enormously. Bodie had behaved impeccably and Doyle was rather sad to be leaving him behind. He wasn’t particularly fussed about the press launch, but that was work to Sam and the food would be free. He gathered himself feeling slightly surprised as the alcohol hit him. He made his goodbyes to Bodie a little wistfully and then they were away.

The press night was not way up on Doyle’s list of great evenings out. It seemed to consist of lots of people kissing air and patting each other’s backs in a rather insincere way. He was also quite unprepared for the attention he seemed to receive as Sam’s partner. Used to being invisible at such events, he felt rather uncomfortable at people’s interest as Sam continuously thrust him forwards into the limelight. Names of supposedly important people were thrown at Doyle left right and centre. Normally he would have catalogued them with ease. Normally however, he would also have been sober. He was rather relieved when they were finally in a taxi heading for Surbiton.

“So what did you think of it, Ray?”

“Well, it was okay I guess. Thanks for inviting me. Did I do alright?”

“You did more than alright, they adored you.”

“Oh, did they?” replied Doyle suddenly pleased.

“Yeah, they really went for the struggling artist look. You were a real enigma to them, Ray. They’ll all be talking about you now. Just a word of warning though, when people are talking about you, you need to be able to know exactly what they’re saying. Perhaps next time you could do with laying off the booze just a bit?”

Doyle’s heart plummeted.

“Oh shit, Sam, I’m sorry, I didn’t show us up did I?”

“No you were fine, sweetheart, just something to remember for the future, nobody appreciates a lush after all.”

The taxi arrived at Hayter’s Maple Road home and Doyle got out, hotly ashamed at himself. He had never been one for fashion. Over the years, Cowley’s looks of disapproval had gradually forced him into slightly smarter gear but he had never been a clothes horse nor ever wished to be. He obviously had a lot to learn if his agonising deliberations had only served to produce ‘the struggling artist look’ and on top of that he had gone and got himself half-cut. The gloss had been taken off the evening for him. He wondered if it would be better to simply get back into the taxi and go home but Sam was ushering him inside and before he knew it they were ensconced in the warm lounge. Sam offered brandy but Doyle indicated a preference for coffee. Before long, they had settled into cosiness and Doyle found himself laughing aloud at Sam’s observations of some of the people they had met. Happier, he allowed himself to relax and when Sam took his hand he was more than happy to be lead to the bedroom.

Laying himself back, Doyle let his eyes do the talking. Here he could really shine. Within seconds he had been flipped on his front and was being held possessively. He relished the feeling of being so wanted and despite the drink he’d knocked back was readily responsive when Sam entered him. After a few minutes of them rutting furiously, Doyle nearly suffered a heart attack when a loud banging came from the wall. Sam was almost beyond speech but managed to pant out an explanation.

“Don’t worry, it’s just Gary next door. We’re not really pissing him off, he just wants me to know that he knows what I’m up to. We’ll do the same back to him when he’s giving Tracy one!”

Beyond caring, Doyle was feeling very near with the repeated stabs to his prostate and within a few moments both men found their way to completion.

Damp and exhausted, Doyle found himself falling asleep in Sam’s arms.

“Say you’ll move in with me, Ray?”

“Yeah course I will, Sam, I’d love to!”

~~~oOo~~~

Bodie woke with the hangover from hell.

His brain struggled to think through the fog when realisation came raining down on him as it always did. Ray was leaving him. It was only a matter of days now and Ray Doyle would be gone. The legendary partnership that had been 4~5 and 3~7 would be relegated to the dusty files of history. His best friend would never ever be there at the end of the day to share a beer and a moan again. The man he adored was going on to pastures new.

Bodie had left it too late. His lack of nerve and his concern for Ray’s feelings had cost him dearly. He would have given anything if only Ray had wanted him. His love for his job paled compared to his need for his partner and he ached with longing and loneliness. How could he have let this happen, let Ray slip through his fingers like trickling quicksilver?

He welcomed the relentless pounding in his head. He wouldn’t allow himself to reach for water or tablets. He deserved the pain. It was nothing compared to the hurt his heart was due to suffer in less than a week’s time. Bodie felt like a coward and a fool. His whole life seemed like a mass of missed opportunities, Ray Doyle being the biggest and most important of all of them. When further sleep failed to claim him he rose with Herculean effort and padded to the kitchen. He poured coffee into himself and within half an hour had declared himself available for emergency standby. The remainder of his free weekend seemed like a looming chasm. He would rather be at work.

~~~oOo~~~

Doyle woke at ten. His head wasn’t exactly clear, but at least he didn’t still feel pissed. Sam was still out for the count. Glitzy though the previous night had been, it was still a working night for Sam and Doyle was happy to let him sleep on. He made for the kitchen and the coffee that could be made there and almost fell upon his non-existent gun when he came across a strange man who was happily making toast.

“Hey, man, I’m Gary. There’s some bread there still but leave some for Trace or she’ll have your bollocks. I’m back off to bed.”

With that the man took his toast and shuffled off.

Doyle made his coffee on autopilot not quite sure that he had seen a rather dishevelled man in nothing more than grotty underpants making his way about what was to be Doyle’s new kitchen. He was just about to contemplate how he would feel much more comfortable in his own flat when Sam appeared.

“Oh Christ, Ray, don’t say you’re one of those ‘morning people’? I was just going for a piss then I smelled the coffee.”

“Hi, Sam, I’ve just met Gary.”

“Oh God he’s up early! Get the munchies did he?”

“Sam, who the bloody hell is Gary?”

“Oh sorry, babe he’s one of the lodgers. You’ll probably see all of them before the end of the day, though weekends don’t really do much for Tracy, so you might not be graced with her presence before Monday.”

“Lodgers? You never told me about any lodgers! What the hell would you need lodgers for with your income?”

“Oh sorry, I never even thought! I’ve had lodgers ever since I got my own place years ago. Incredibly easy money, Ray, you’d be surprised what I can earn from them before I have to declare it.”

“But you have your own money. Why would you feel the need to live with strangers?”

“I’m just used to it I s’pose. And they’re not strangers, least not anymore. I work away a lot. Knowing that someone is always here keeping the house going is a comfort. Not that they’re clean and tidy, mind. A char-woman comes in once a week to scoop up after them and I add her wages to their rent. It’s a happy enough house, Ray. They know their place, plus they’ll be company for you when I’m away. There’s plenty of room. Don’t worry, I’m not about to start charging _you_ rent, but they do come as part of the package.”

“Sorry, I just thought it was gonna be just us.”

“Ray if it’s that big a deal we can always look for a place just for ‘just us’ later on. I don’t really care where I live, long as I can make the connections for work. This place has always been handy for the gallery though. Give ‘em a chance, they’re not monsters you know!”

“How many of them are there exactly?”

“Four all together. There’s Gary and Tracy next door, there’s Winston on the second floor, he’s a bus driver and you’ll hardly ever see him and Jamie’s in the attic room.”

“What Jamie your nephew?”

“The very same. He might not be here that much longer obviously if he actually manages to get a job. To be honest, he stays mostly at the gallery. He’s got his own little room set up there and everything. I don’t really understand these youngsters, Ray, when I say the 'attic room' it’s more like the entire loft space but he seems happy enough in his pokey little room at ‘Hayter’s’.”

“I s’pose I better meet him sooner or later if he’s gonna show me how to run the place?”

“All in good time, Ray. In the meantime I’m going to throw a cup of that coffee down my neck and get back off to bed. It is Sunday after all!”

Doyle’s final week in the employ of CI5 was uneventful to the point of anti-climax. It was surprising how many different bits of paper he needed to sign. Somehow he had always expected Bodie to be signing them right along with him and was disappointed to see little of his partner. On a few occasions he walked into the restroom just as Bodie happened to be on the way out and after a while got the worrying feeling that Bodie was actually avoiding him.

Doyle wasn’t particularly looking forward to his leaving party but as everyone else seemed to be, he tried to get into the spirit of the occasion. At least he would finally be able to spend some quality time with Bodie. On the evening itself he was thrilled and a little relieved to see his partner already in attendance, dressed to the nines and looking fabulous.

“Hey, Ray how was your big night out?”

“Okay up until we left the wine bar to be honest, the rest was all a bit too pretentious for my taste.”

“Oh so slumming it in the social club’s not too much of a come down for you then? You looked great by the way.”

“Really? Er, thanks!”

Doyle was surprised at the compliment, though he would much rather have heard it come from Sam.

“Look, Ray, sorry, mate but I can’t stay. I’ve kinda double booked and on top of that I’m on standby.”

“You ARE joking right?” replied Doyle dismayed at the obvious lie.

“Look, I’ve put some money behind the bar. You just make sure you have a good night, okay?”

“How the hell am I gonna do that now if you’re bailing on me?”

“Trust me, Ray, it’s better this way.”

The look on Bodie’s face told Doyle that it wasn’t better at all but he recognised Bodie’s determination and realised that this was probably goodbye. In near shock he made to hug his partner. Somehow Bodie pre-empted the move and they haphazardly shook hands and then Bodie was gone.

Doyle endured the evening, Cowley’s short abrupt speech, the endless well-wishing and the continuous free drink. He felt obliged to stay till the bitter end and ended up slumped over the bar talking to Ted the barkeep.

“Nobody’s paid for a drink all night, Ted, how much did Bodie give you for heaven’s sake?”

“Well he said if there was any change from the five hundred to give it to The Police Benevolent Fund.”

Stunned, Doyle sadly made his way to his Surbiton bound taxi. When he arrived at his new home, a large group of people were gathered in the kitchen. He recognised Gary and Sam of course, but the rest were strangers to him. He was rapidly introduced and got his first look at Tracy the girlfriend, Winston the bus driver, and somehow took in the fact that the others were all Sam’s friends, associates or just people who had happened to find themselves there. There was a strong smell of cannabis in the air and Doyle felt slightly sick. In no mood to be sociable, he made his excuses and went up to bed. In a few minutes a concerned Sam joined him.

“Heavy night, sweetheart? Didn’t you enjoy your party?”

“No, not much. It was nice, but it was also sad and then someone let me down but then did something completely amazing and I never even got to thank them.”

“Well never mind, babe. It’s all done now with isn’t it? You can kiss goodbye to being a civil servant and start to live a little. We’re starting on the shots downstairs. Have a little kip and then join us, you’ll feel better before you know it!”

“Stay with me, Sam?”

“No, I’d better get back down there, make sure they’re not trashing the place.”

“I need you.”

“No what you need is a decent sleep. I’ll see you in the morning if you’re not able to come down later. Close those peepers and dream of good things. Night, Ray.”

Doyle sadly closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep through the noise that was emanating from below. When he woke, Sam Hayter was draped all over him. Doyle smiled but did however, need to piss. His struggling roused Sam.

“Hey, gorgeous!”

“Hey, Sam, sorry I need to pee.”

“Just stay there like that for a moment, I wanna look at you.”

“I will do in a minute but I really do need to pee!”

“You are beautiful, you know that don’t you?”

“Um, thanks but I still really need …”

Sam didn’t let him finish and kissed the words from his mouth. Doyle felt a twitch down below and instantly started to part his legs. It was rough ready and quick and afterwards, Doyle was finally freed to use the bathroom. When he returned, Sam was slumbering but Doyle wanted to talk.

“The sex is great, Sam but I was just wondering …”

“Yes, Ray what were you wondering?”

“Well, um …”

“Come on, out with it, I’ve got beauty sleep that needs catching up on here!”

“Well I was wondering how um, versatile you are? I mean …”

“I know exactly what you mean, Ray, you’re asking if I’m ever the bottom man, yes?”

“Er, well, yeah.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, tried it once or twice and never really liked it. You got a problem with that you better say so right now ‘cos I can’t change I’m afraid, Ray.”

“Aren’t you up for experimenting just a little bit? We’ve got the rest of our lives ahead of us after all and you might find out that you _did_ like it with the right person?”

“Ray, do I satisfy you?”

“Yeah course you do! All I’m saying is that it might be nice to have a little bit of give and take, that’s all.”

“Sorry, Ray, I didn’t mind you asking but I’ve given you my answer and as far as I’m concerned the subject’s closed.”

Chastened, Ray closed his eyes and strove for more sleep. He didn’t really mind either way whether he was on the giving or receiving end when it came to sex but was disappointed that Sam seemed so set against his suggestion. Sam was great in the sack and had never left Doyle disappointed but the thought that he might never get to fuck again was a bit of a milestone he had never envisaged. Worse was the fact that Sam didn’t seem inclined to discuss it any further. He decided to leave the matter for a while. He was in a new relationship which he knew required compromise and understanding. Sam was giving him so much, a nice home, a new career and an easy life after CI5 and all its turmoil and Doyle in return was thinking like a spoilt child. He needed to stop behaving with the selfishness of a single man and start acting like the other half of the couple that he now was.

Monday came around and Doyle rose early. Winston was in the kitchen filling a flask.

“Hi, Ray sorry, mon, I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, no it’s fine, Winston, I’m usually up early. What time do you start?”

“When I’m on a morning shift, I like to get to the depot at six. No one else ever usually hears me getting ready for work, so sorry again.”

Winston sounded genuinely apologetic for being in Doyle’s presence and Doyle warmed to the man.

“I should be sorry to you, Winston, I’m the new boy around here and I haven’t even properly introduced myself yet. You got time for another cuppa before you go? It’s only ten to five.”

“Sure, mon, if you really want to talk to me, I’m not that interesting!”

“You’re a London bus driver and you say you’re not interesting? Do me a favour!”

Doyle spent a pleasant half hour talking to the charming Winston. The man had left his native South Africa some twenty years before and had spent the last nineteen ferrying the capital’s commuters from one stop to another. Doyle felt much happier as Winston made his way out of the door. He’d made a friend of one of the lodgers. Sam had been right, they weren’t monsters, just ordinary people who just happened to be living in the same place as himself. Seeing as he had no CI5 flat to return to anymore, that could only be considered a good thing. Having so much spare time was a new found problem. It was only six thirty and Doyle had already showered, dressed, drunk three cups of coffee and re-read the Sunday supplement. At seven, Tracy tumbled down the stairs carrying an armload of underwear and an overfilled ashtray.

“Sorry, you didn’t want to do any washing, did yer, mate? I gotta get this lot done, I shoulda done it yesterday and if I don’t do it now it won’t be dry by tonight.”

“Er, no you go right ahead.”

“Cheers, pal, it’ll be a right pain in the arse if I havn’t got any tights for tomorrow.”

Tracy proceeded to plunge frilly underwear into the machine before staring around the kitchen. She spied a lumberjack shirt and a woollen jumper which she added to the wash before adding half a box of powder and setting the machine to a hot wash.

Doyle winced but said nothing and the skinny girl proceeded to brew tea, toast bread and light a cigarette all at the same time.

“I’m Trace by the way. I think you were a bit too shot away the other night when you met me. You met my other half, Gary, he’s a lazy git but he’ll be up early today as he’s got college.”

“College?”

“Yeah he’s a mature student. Wants to be an engineer. He goes to college on Monday’s. When he can be arsed that is.”

“What does he do the rest of the time?”

“Fucked if I know, mate but I’m then I’m not here.”

“What do you do?”

“I type up records in a doctor’s surgery. It’s bloody boring but it pays the rent for us both on this place.”

“Doesn’t Gary have any of his own money?”

“Not yet, but once he’s qualified, we’ll be quid’s in. We’ll start looking for a place of our own then.”

“When will that be?”

“Oh Gary's got at least two more years to go at college and then he’s gotta find himself a job. He's alright though, he likes a bit of a smoke and he’s got his daft mates but that won’t be forever. I hope to be married with kids in the next five years.”

Doyle was depressed at the poor girl’s aspirations and more than a little concerned about Gary’s liking for ‘a bit of a smoke’ but he reminded himself that he was the newcomer here. He wasn’t a policeman anymore. He certainly wasn’t a government agent. He was now a free man about to enter the art world and simply _had_ to be more open to different attitudes and ideas.

Gary almost fell into the kitchen and sloppily kissed Tracy on her way out.

“Hey, man I gotta go to college. You made any coffee?”

Doyle indicated the percolator and Gary poured a cup, lit a cigarette and disappeared back upstairs with both. Doyle’s lingering pleasure at meeting the mild mannered Winston had evaporated by the time Sam appeared.

“Shit, Ray I’ve got to be in Brazil tonight, why did no bastard wake me?”

“Brazil? You never told me about that! When do you have to leave?”

“I have to be at Heathrow by twelve but I've got loads of shit to sort out before then!”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Well it’s a fashion shoot and should be a week but knowing those daft tarts it’ll be more like two.”

“And what about me?”

“What do you mean, what about you?”

“Well what do I do in the meantime?”

“You _did_ have the offer of coming, Ray but you said you didn’t want to!”

“No what I mean is, I’m supposed to be starting work at the gallery. What should I do now, just present myself to young Jamie? He doesn’t even know me from Adam!”

“Oh fuck, Ray sorry, yeah. Look I should be able to spare an hour on the way to the airport. I’ll drop you off, make the introductions and then Jamie can show you the rest. The place is closed on Monday’s, but he’ll probably still be there pottering about. Treat him just like you’re the boss, you will be eventually anyhow. You’ll be running the whole shebang by the time I get back, I’ve no doubt about it.”

Doyle spent a frustrating few hours watching Sam making and receiving phone calls, gathering various items of baggage and generally becoming stressed and angry. Doyle’s own nerves about his first day starting a new job paled as he became tenser on Sam’s behalf. Finally, they were on the road heading towards Doyle’s new place of work. The quiet confines of the gallery were a balm to Doyle’s soul after the strange chaos of the kitchen. As they entered, Jamie appeared like a well-dressed automaton.

“Hey, Jamie, this is Ray, your new boss. He’ll be taking over when you eventually bugger off so it’s your job to teach him everything that he needs to know about running this place. He’s still your boss though so what he says goes and no bloody backchat alright?”

Jamie nodded solemnly and before he knew it, Doyle had been swiftly kissed goodbye and deserted by his lover. Pale and silent, Jamie looked at Doyle expectantly.

“So, Jamie, I’m Ray. You any good at making tea?”

Doyle’s first morning working alongside James Hayter was like pulling teeth. The young man was so quiet that once or twice Doyle wondered if he might actually be mute. Gradually Doyle’s ribald humour wore down the lad’s buttoned up resolve and by late afternoon they were laughing aloud and talking easily together.

“So how long have you worked here, Jamie?”

“Ever since I got my place at Slade. My father insisted that I had to support myself if I was going to live in London, he didn’t really want me to come here, to be honest.”

“You’re not from here then?”

“Oh, God no. My father’s a Captain in the Royal Navy. We moved about a bit when I was younger, but home as I know it now is Southampton.”

“Well that’s not a million miles away.”

“No, but everyone expected me to follow in my father’s footsteps. It’s a bit of a family tradition you see? Uncle Sam is probably the only one of my immediate family who’s not connected in some way to the services.”

“Did Sam inspire you then, with the artwork and all?”

“No not really. I hardly even knew him before I came here. I get the impression that my father would be highly disapproving of him if he wasn’t so successful.”

“Your father’s not an art fan then?”

“Not in the least. It was okay when I was younger - he praised my work as it was all part of my general education, but when he saw that I was getting serious about it, he did start to get a bit worried.”

“Didn’t he realise your huge achievement in getting into Slade?”

“No, it’s just a poncey art school to him. I didn’t even tell my parents that I’d applied. They thought that after studying art and English at college, I’d be all studied out and quite ready to finally join the RN. It was a college lecturer that persuaded me to put in my applications. When I got Slade I was amazed.”

“Your parents didn’t try to stop you coming here?”

“No but I think they expected me to fail. My father’s conditions were that I got myself somewhere safe and reputable to live and that I supported myself whilst I was here. My mother didn’t really trust me with the first condition and forced my father to go cap in hand to Uncle Sam. When Sam offered me the gallery work in lieu of rent I jumped at it.”

“In lieu of rent? I thought Sam was paying you?”

“Oh he is now, but I’m in my final six months. When I first started, I spent so much time in school that I couldn’t actually be here that much and Sam couldn’t really pay me for not being here. Now most of my time is my own now as far as Slade is concerned. As long as I finish my projects, I’m on course to get my degree.”

“And then what do you intend doing?”

“Pleasing my father.”

Doyle looked at Jamie, stunned.

“After all that, you’d give up art and join the navy?”

“Not exactly, Ray. If you don’t mind, I’d like to show you something. Say if you don’t want to, but it’s my secret weapon to combat my parent’s final death throes about me becoming a sailor.”

“Please, lead on, Macduff!”

Doyle was lead into a long, narrow room with a huge window surrounding it. Though it was completely dark outside, the room was beautifully lit by twinkling downlights which showed off the treasures within.

“The light here in the daytime is fabulous. The artificial light is enough to work by, but I’m normally done in after a day in this place. I’ve rigged up a bell so that when customers want to come in, I can hear them if I’m in here painting.”

Doyle made for a huge canvas set on an easel on the centre of the room.

“That’s HMS Bulwark. I’ve still got a few more days work to go on it, but it’s nearly there.”

Doyle studied the tremendous work. The detail was outstanding and the overall affect the oil paint portrayed was almost photographic in quality.

“Jamie, this is amazing! Have you got any more that I can see?”

“Oh stacks of them! It’s nice that someone actually wants to look at them, Sam can’t bear them.”

“You’re joking?” replied Doyle casting his eyes over the impressive collection of frigates, destroyers and aircraft carriers.

“When I qualify I intend to do everything I can to become a Royal Naval artist in residence. I’ve already got a promised commission from the RN National Museum to paint a new version of Hermes. I’ve had some good things said about my work from some important people and finally my father’s coming round to the idea that there might be something to ‘this art thing’ after all.”

“And you say that Sam doesn’t care for them?”

“No Sam, doesn’t really like paintings. If an image isn’t captured through a lens it doesn’t really interest him much.”

“Why did he buy an art gallery then?”

“He bought it with his friend Richard. I liked Richard. He was kind of Sam’s friend like you are now, I think. Richard painted and knew what would sell but Sam wanted to fill the place with his photography work and he wanted a lot of money for it too. Unfortunately, the gallery was then doomed to failure. People came in for a nose around but they weren’t prepared to pay over the odds for a print that anyone else could also buy. Sam had to admit defeat and let Richard turn the place around. Richard displayed some of his own stuff and then gradually put up work by local artists. He introduced the idea of selling art supplies and before they knew it, the place was thriving.”

“So, what happened to this, er, Richard then?”

Somehow it seemed a little unkind to be asking Jamie about Sam’s former love but Doyle couldn’t help himself.

“Oh eventually they fell out and decided to part company. Richard couldn’t afford to buy Sam out so he sold his share back. It’s a shame really, as I said I liked Richard. I worked a lot with him a lot before he left. Sam never has the time to even be here, he just reaps the profits the place makes and basically leaves me to run it. I have to turn up for tutorials every couple of weeks and that’s why we’re closed on Mondays.”

“Sam tells me you even sleep here.”

“Yeah I do most of the time. I like the peace and quiet. Is that okay? I mean I won’t any more if you won’t allow it but the house isn’t really much good for my painting, Sam won’t let me use his studio there and I don’t really have that much in common with that Gary guy and all his mates.”

“Oh, Jamie of course I don’t mind! I might be your alleged new boss but I’m not about to start running the place with a rod of iron! I’m the new boy here, you just carry on doing whatever makes you happy. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still in charge until you leave, but Sam doesn’t have to know that, does he?”

Jamie looked at Doyle in relief.

“Oh, God, thanks, Ray! There’s a tiny little bedsit upstairs. My father would probably throw a fit if he knew that most of the time I live in little more than a broom cupboard, but like any self-respecting student I manage to live on Pot Noodles and Vesta curry. I’ve got my kettle and a microwave, a blow up airbed and a little radio and that’s all I really need. I was worried when Sam said he was bringing someone else in. I just need these last few months to get my projects finished and then I’ll be gone and out of your hair. He never really told me what you were like. I was dreading you coming in and wanting to change things, but actually, you’re really cool! You remind me a lot of Richard.”

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment! Tell me, is Pot-Vesta your only dietary staple or are you open to something a little more substantial?”

“Well there’s not much more I can really afford.”

“So if I was to offer to shout you a pie and a pint around the corner you wouldn’t be offended?”

“Well even though I’m not that way inclined, I’d probably feel the need to kiss you!”

Doyle giggled. He was surprised that Sam has described Jamie as ‘thick as a plank’, for he found the boy to be intelligent, talented and immensely likable.

“Well if we’re done here for the moment I’m ready whenever you are!” Doyle smiled.

“Well lead on, Macduff!” Jamie echoed and laughing, they made for the local pub.

The pair spent a pleasant evening eating fine fair and chattering nonstop about art, family and life in general.

Doyle saw Jamie back to the gallery and caught himself a bus back to the house. He was a little sad to be returning to it alone, it wasn’t the same without Sam in it, but on the whole he'd had a good day. He’d made two new friends in Winston and Jamie and was heartily looking forward to working in the gallery. All in all, he hadn’t really thought about CI5 or Bodie once. He let himself in to the loud chatter and laughter that was coming from the lounge. He stuck his head around the door to find Gary and his friends engrossed in something loud on the television. The air was thick with smoke and beer cans littered every surface. He made his way to the kitchen in search of coffee. There was no sign of Winston and the only evidence of Tracy’s presence were several stringy pairs of tights and a somewhat shrunken jumper hanging from a clothes horse. Surprisingly tired, he took his drink and made his way to his bedroom. He was pleased that it contained a TV as there seemed precious little chance of getting anywhere near the one downstairs. He watched the late news with semi-interest. The same old wars were going on in the same old places, but nothing earth shattering had happened in the UK over the last twenty four hours. Nothing to rattle CI5’s cage anyway. Tired but lonely, Doyle slept.

Doyle worked hard that week learning all he could from Jamie about the daily running of the gallery. Most paying customers bought art supplies and Doyle was surprised how many students purchased despite the somewhat inflated prices.

“You missed the sign on the door, Ray. If they present their student union card, they get a twenty percent discount. That was one of my ideas actually and Richard went for it. Most of them study at Kingston or Wimbledon, but some of my friends shop here if they live near enough.”

Lots of people just came in to browse and Jamie taught Doyle how to spot those that actually looked like serious buyers. They sold two paintings that first week. The first sale Jamie dealt with whilst Doyle watched on with quiet interest. The second sale Doyle made all on his own and he was thrilled that the picture was one of Jamie’s.

“The gallery takes a hefty commission, but the sale of that will keep me in Pot Noodles for the foreseeable future, Ray!” Jamie laughed, delighted.

Doyle learned all about the displays, the artists that supplied the works and the agents that provided them. Jamie patiently showed him how to print copies of Sam’s photographs in the simple dark room and he found that talking to the myriad of customers was not as daunting as he’d first imagined, a lot of his own artistic knowledge surfacing again for the first time in years.

After a busy week, Doyle rose early on Sunday morning to a blissfully quiet house. He hadn’t heard a word from Sam though he was relatively unsurprised. Left to his own devices whilst the rest of the household slumbered, he decided to have a search around his new home. He'd spent precious little time there since starting work and had little idea how a shared house really worked. He looked through cupboards quickly establishing the ones that had been given over to the lodgers when he saw various items labelled with different names. He saw the sense in this when he realised that the milk that he had bought was nearly gone. He decided that his laundry was long overdue and after pulling out a slightly musty pair of tights, he stuffed his shirts and underwear into the washing machine. He took coffee into the garden but the cold soon drove him back indoors. He went into the lounge and surveyed the carnage from the night before. He made quick work of clearing the cans and emptying the ashtrays. Despite the weather, he opened the fan lights to air the room. He spied the telephone in the corner of the room and willed Sam to call it. Suddenly feeling lonely, he strode purposely across the room, picked up the receiver and dialled Bodie’s number.

~~~oOo~~~

The phone was ringing again. It was the third time that the white phone had rung since Ray had gone. It was also the third time that Bodie completely ignored it. The old man knew how to contact Bodie if he needed to. There was nobody else that he wanted or expected to hear from. He was on standby, had been more or less since Ray had left and fully intended to be so for the rest of his natural life if necessary. It was no hardship. He'd the odd nip of whiskey at night to help him sleep, but apart from that didn’t go out either drinking or socialising. Getting completely and dangerously drunk alone on the night of Ray’s party hadn’t brought the man back to him so he hadn’t tried it again.

Bodie knew that Cowley was concerned about him, but there was little reason for the old man to worry. Bodie would continue to serve his boss and protect and support whatever partner was thrown his way. So what if he didn’t feel like being the life and soul of the party anymore, he could still do his job. It was the only thing he had left that held any importance to him.

~~~oOo~~~

Doyle listened to the phone ring out for a full minute before hanging up. Even Bodie with his love of bed would be up by now, so he would either be working or laid alongside some gorgeous bird. Doyle sincerely hoped it was the latter. He still hated the thought of Bodie being on the streets without him. Not that he thought that much of his own abilities nor doubted the assets of his former colleagues, he still felt that he had let Bodie down horribly. He wondered when he would next work up the nerve to call Bodie. He wanted to all the time, it seemed strange not doing so, but somehow he didn’t feel that Bodie would welcome the contact. The farewell had seemed so final on the night of his party that Doyle felt that any attempt at communication would be one intrusion too far into Bodie’s life. Once again Doyle wished that Sam was there to chase his melancholy away when a key turned in the front door. Wondering which one of the lodgers had stayed out all night, he was most surprised to see a small, bustling woman forcing her way into the hallway amid buckets and brooms, cursing loudly to herself. She stopped abruptly when she came up against Doyle who was draped lazily against the wall.

“Oh! Sorry, mate I’m Sue. Are you Ray?”

“I am. Hello, ‘Sue’. I take it you must be Sam’s cleaning lady?”

“Yeah for my sins. I’m not a real cleaner. Me and Sam go well back and he offered me a few quid one day for mucking out this place. Look I’m really sorry for turning up on a Sunday. I’m normally here on Fridays but my mum was taken ill earlier this week and just I couldn’t get round here.”

“Oh I’m sorry, how is your mother now?”

“Oh she’s alright, Ray, but she’s old you know? They get so bloody needy at her age. I try to get round there once a day but I’ve got two kids and a lump of a husband to look after – not that I don’t thank the Good Lord for them all every day of course, but it all takes up time. I work at an old people’s home and I keep trying to get mum to go and live in it but she won’t have it. Then I’ve got this place and another couple that I do for. I dunno, Ray, sometimes I almost meet meself coming back, never enough hours in the day are there? Anyway poppet, how are you settling in? Bet you don’t rate that Gary much, do you? Dirty little sod he is, though actually this lounge is looking quite good for once. The girl’s not too bad, but she’s got her work cut out for her with him. I don’t do the bedrooms, so if you want to live like a pig in shit that’s your lookout. I do the hall and stairs, the lounge, kitchen and bathroom. My money’s always left in the tea pot and they’ve all been warned that if it ever disappears before I get it they’ll be chucked out, so think on.”

Doyle had no real idea what statement he should address first. Sue could apparently talk for England and he had no wish in delaying her busy day further by answering back. Instead he made her coffee (which she fortunately took black) and she wittered away to him whilst doing a remarkably good job of cleaning the place. It seemed odd to Doyle that someone should be clearing up after him. He was used to Bodie straightening his cushions and wiping his fingers along dusty shelves, but Doyle was clean and tidy enough in his own way. Bodie would throw a fit if he saw the way that Gary treated the place and he could see why Sam was happy enough to employ a cleaner. Sue seemed a pleasant woman and as Doyle had no intentions of thieving her money from the tea pot, he considered that he may well have made himself another new friend.

In the afternoon, bored beyond measure, Doyle let himself into Sam’s studio. It was just an ordinary room, though painted out all in white. Doyle could instantly see why it would be no good as a painting studio having only one rather uninspiring light source. It seemed more of a storage area for various equipment than anything else and left Doyle rather deflated. Desperate to occupy himself he searched every inch of the place trying to find something of interest and he finally found books and plates of Sam’s photographs. He flicked through them half interested. He couldn’t deny that they were good. Sam definitely had an eye for setting up a model but the images left Doyle cold in comparison to Jamie’s beautiful seascapes. Most of the albums portrayed fashion shoots, Sam’s main source of income. Another was filled with press cuttings containing photographs that Sam had sold to newspapers. Doyle impressed himself by recognising many of the subjects in the pictures. Not particularly excited by what he saw, he was about to give up and go and find something else to do when he spotted two more books from the corner of his eye. They were reasonably well hidden at the very bottom of the shelves and obviously not meant to be found by the casual observer. The albums were different to the others. Smoothly bound in matt black leather, no written words appeared on the covers nor inside. Almost tentatively, Doyle looked through one.

‘Ah, Sam it would appear I’ve stumbled upon your secret porn stash!’ thought Doyle, delightedly.

The photographs were stunning. They all featured the same model and though his face never appeared, there seemed to be something oddly familiar about him. There was no shortage of shots of the rest of his anatomy but though the pictures left nothing to the imagination, they were too tastefully artistic to be merely classed as porn. The second album changed all that. Another model had been introduced and though the men had been purposely shot in shadow and soft focus, there was no doubt that they were involved in sexual activity. Though maybe not the sort of thing suitable for hanging on a lounge wall, the images were still beautiful. Doyle itched to ask Sam about them and wondered how he could raise the subject without admitting to snooping.

On Monday morning, Doyle arrived at the gallery early.

“Jamie, I think I’ve made my first executive decision!”

“You have?” Jamie gulped.

“Yes. I propose that from this day forward, we open on Monday’s!”

“But I as told you, Ray, I can’t always commit to Monday, due to my tutorials. I’ve got one today in fact and I need to be there by nine!”

“I know, Jamie and there’s nothing to worry about, believe me. If I’m to be running this place, I might as well see if I can do it all on my own. What better way than chucking myself in at the deep end and just getting on with it? You can go off to your tutorial and later we can have a good laugh at how much of a hash up I managed to make of it!”

“Are you sure? You don’t mind doing all the work by yourself?”

“Course I don’t, and don’t worry, your job’s still safe. I’m just getting bored kicking me heels all the time that Sam’s away so I might as well be doing something useful.”

“Oh God, Ray, you _are_ amazing! Uncle Sam really doesn’t deserve you!”

“Well that’s debatable, but hadn’t you better get ready for school?”

“Oh, Christ yeah! It takes me nearly an hour to get there and it’s a right pain on the tube with all my gear. Sorry, Ray but I really better get a shift on!”

Doyle smilingly waved the flustered boy away and settled to his new day job. As he saw Jamie’s back hurrying out of the door he got a slight feeling of Deja vu but he waved that away as well.

By ten forty five, Doyle had sold three blank canvasses, a set of gift cards and a bottle of Tippex. He was considering making himself elevenses when Sam burst through the door looking flushed.

“Ray!”

“Sam!”

“What on earth are you doing here? I’ve been home for the last hour, wondering where the hell you were!”

Doyle rushed from around his counter and they met in a kiss that was so electrified that sparks should have been seen.

“Sorry, Sam, but we’re open on Monday as from today. Why didn’t you call me and say that you were on your way back?”

“Got lucky with an early flight. Where’s Jamie, college?”

“Yep.”

“Good, get that sign turned round, we’ve got business to attend to!”

Doyle rushed from behind his counter and quickly locked doors and closed blinds. He turned back and Sam grabbed him and lifted him onto the counter. Doyle circled his legs around Sam’s waist before allowing himself to be carried into the back room. Five minutes after Sam had gone down on his knees, Doyle thanked God for homecomings.

The rest of the afternoon was bliss. Doyle felt a little guilty that Jamie would be arriving back to the closed gallery. It would have been good to have spent an evening in the pub laughing at Doyle’s first day mishaps, but Jamie had had no more idea than himself that Sam was coming home. The house was eerily quiet almost as if the other occupants had sensed Sam’s presence. As they sat in bed sipping champagne, Sam questioned him.

“So how have you got on with everyone else, Ray?”

“Well I met Sue the other day, she’s a sweetheart. Winston is great and Tracy is, er, well Tracy.”

“So what do you make of Gary?”

“Could live without him to be honest, he hasn’t done much to impress me yet, if truth be told.”

“You never met his brother Tony! It’s cos of Tony that Gary moved in. I kicked Tony out and Gary asked if he could have the room. Then he got together with Trace and now I charge ‘em double.”

“Why did you kick this ‘Tony’ out?”

“Little fucker was dealing out of my house!”

“You’re kidding me! What was he selling?”

“Fucking smack, Ray. Word was he could get cocaine but none of his lot could afford that and even I don’t know if he could even really get it. I didn’t give a shit. I couldn’t have my address being known as a damn drugs den! I came home one night and one of his customers was attempting to chase the dragon over my bloody stove! I slung Tony and all his gear out in less than ten minutes. Gary came sniffing round here the very next day.”

“So doesn’t it worry you that they all smoke pot here?”

“Oh come on, Ray, a bit of smoke’s a bit different to all that hard stuff. I’m afraid that in my world, drugs are all part of the scene, but selling from my house was just taking the fucking piss!”

“Does it worry you that I don’t really like all that?”

“No of course it doesn’t, babe. It’s each to their own here. They can do what they want as long as the law doesn’t get to hear about it. If you don’t wanna do it, don’t do it. Not that I don’t believe you weren’t doing something though.”

“Eh, what do you mean by that?”

“Well don’t tell me that you weren’t on speed, not with the figure you had?”

Doyle spluttered.

“What do you mean the figure I had? I was always skinny. I couldn’t help that, it had nothing to do with drugs!”

“Whatever you say, Ray. If you were on anything, I can tell you’re off it now.”

“Eh, what the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing! Nothing, calm down, Ray!”

“No I wanna know what you meant by that!”

“Oh for God’s sake, I didn’t mean anything, Ray, you’ve just put on a pound or two that’s all!”

Doyle drew into himself. Sam carried on talking but Doyle didn’t hear him. Ever since leaving CI5, he hadn’t run once. He hadn’t even felt like it. He'd run regularly for the last ten years except on occasions that operations had prevented it. In the last week he had eaten mainly in the pub with Jamie. He'd drunk endless cups of milky coffee. Dependant on the bus for travel he'd ignored his growing alcohol intake. His fingers travelled down to his hip bones. They felt very well covered and Doyle was horrified. He was getting fat. He’d put on an enormous amount of weight without even realising it. Sam had noticed it, yet he hadn’t. He’d never worried about being overweight - never had to. Now all of a sudden he was letting himself go. Disgusted, he allowed himself to be buried into Sam’s embrace as his silent tears started to fall.

The following morning, Doyle rose at five. He’d discounted the idea of running to the gallery as ridiculous, it was simply too far before the start of a working day. He donned some old gear and went out. Within minutes he was tired and depressed. He hated road running and longed for the spongy turf that the old cemetery’s had provided where he had nagged Bodie so many times to join him. He pounded the streets far harder than he should have done. Weeks of idleness took their toll, but his niggling thoughts were chasing him. He was failing. He had failed at the press night. He was failing with his new house mates. Whenever he was with Sam he thought that he was also failing. Somehow suddenly, he didn’t feel capable enough or cool enough or thin enough. It wasn’t the loss of his gun or his CI5 ID card so much as the man that was left without those things that shocked him. He didn’t really know where he fit into the world anymore. He had a new job, but he had no idea how much he was going to be paid to do it. He lived with a lot of strangers, many of who smoked dope, but he had to ignore that and try to get on with them. He thought he had made new friends but to be honest they could all go hang as long as Sam wanted him. He missed Bodie’s presence like a nagging pain but he had burned his bridges there. He was uneasy about calling Bodie now. Why would Bodie want to hear from the ex-partner who had bailed on him?

Exhausted, Doyle got back to the house, showered and then weighed himself. His last medical had been three weeks before he’d resigned. He'd had always been aware of his weight. He’d been warned three times whilst in CI5 that if it dropped any lower he could face being removed from active status until he gained again. Now he stared at the scales in dismayed astonishment. He had put on seven pounds since his last weigh in. He quickly dressed, made black coffee for himself and took a cup upstairs to Sam.

“Christ, Ray you’re up early!”

“Been out for a run.”

“You mad bastard, it’s not even light out there yet, why on earth would you want to do that?”

“You should try it. Wakes you up, no end!”

“I’ll just bet it does, but I’ll stick to coffee thanks, you’re on your own with that lark, son!”

Doyle didn’t mind Sam’s refusal in the least. His own performance had been so embarrassing that he had been glad to keep to the dark empty streets where nobody else could witness his puffing exertions. Trying to steer Sam’s mind away from the inadequacies he was feeling, Doyle asked him about his plans for the week ahead.

“Unless anything breaks on the news front, I’m booked up with portfolio work for the next few weeks, Ray.”

“Oh? What does that involve?”

“Well people come here and I set them up in the studio and take their picture, it’s as simple as that really. By the end of the day, I’m usually bored rigid by their twittering and half choked to death by Tramp perfume, but it pays the bills.”

“What are they building the portfolios for?”

“Page Three mainly. There are two types of girls that appear on page three, Ray, the absolute naturals and the also-rans. The naturals only need one or two pictures, if that. In fact, I’ve seen girls turn up at The Sun’s offices who’ve found themselves in the paper the very next day. For every natural however, there are a hundred also-rans and they have to work much harder. They need a good portfolio behind them before anyone will even think of taking them seriously. It’s not just about the pictures either, but who takes them. Any girl that really wants to make it needs a good photographer that the tabloids have heard of.”

“So would you ever be good enough to take the actual photos that go into the papers?”

“You cheeky git, I already do!”

“Do you? I didn’t know that.”

“Pass me those papers off that chair there, Ray.”

Sam flicked through the first few newspapers from a pile that Doyle had been meaning to throw out for the last two days.

“Ah, here we are look, that’s one of mine, the lovely Sonia! Bright girl that one, wants to be zoologist eventually.”

Doyle studied the words beneath the grainy picture.

“But it says here this was taken by a ‘Terry Radcliffe’.”

“Yes that’s one of my pseudonyms. I’ve got a few of them.”

“Have you? Why’s that?”

“It’s just a professional thing. I don’t go selling pictures of the Home Secretary to The Times as a tits and arse snapper.”

“I can’t believe I never knew that you were a Page Three photographer!”

“Ray you spent a night rubbing shoulders with Linda Lusardi and Cherri Gilham and you never actually wondered why?”

“I have been to a few ‘dos’ where there were famous people milling about. I’m not really that impressed by them to be honest, they’re only people just like you and me.”

“What sort of job did you have then that you would have mixed with the hoi polloi I wonder?”

“I was in security like I said.”

“Mmm I dunno, Ray, you do have hidden depths which I still need to plumb!”

“Maybe, but we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Why do you need to do all the other work if you shoot for Page Three? Surely that must net a fortune all on its own?”

“It does. Its great money and it’s bloody easy work but I’ve always been freelance. I like the variety. If I was stuck in The Sun or Mirror’s studios from nine to five all week, I’d go bloody mad. I like the travel, I like thrill of the chase and I like the awards I win. If all I had to look forward to was yet another pair of tits on a Monday morning, I’d probably want to kill myself.”

“So it’s only girls you photograph in your studio?”

“How many Page Three boys can you name, Ray?”

“I dunno, I just wondered I s’pose.”

“Look, Ray I’ve photographed girls, boys, pet dogs and Uncle Tom Cobley and all in there, but the portfolio work _does_ make real money.”

“Having money is important to you, isn’t it?”

“I like having it, yes. I spent quite a few years not having it and I didn’t like that very much. I’ve learnt that if I want to keep getting it I need to keep on working. I’ve got lots of jobs and contracts on the go. If one fails then I have plenty to fall back on. Between you and me, I don’t think that the likes of Page Three will last forever. I’m looking at new things all the time. One thing that really interests me is film. I think one day we’ll look back on titty shots as a fond memory. Some of the films I’ve seen abroad would blow your mind, Ray!”

“What porn you mean?”

“Yeah why not? If there’s a market for it, there’s money to be made. It doesn’t _have_ to be sleazy. All the busty babes that are seen every day by Joe Public are _very_ well looked after. Why shouldn’t there be a similar set up for porn artists? There are people who want to look at it and watch it so why shouldn’t they be prepared to pay decent money for it? Talking of which, I’ve got something for you.”

Sam reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a brown envelope. Doyle opened it to reveal a hundred pounds in crisp notes.

“What’s this?” he asked amazed.

“It’s your pay, you twit. What did you think it was?”

“Well it’s a damn sight more than you pay Jamie isn’t it?”

“Jamie’s a student. He’s also a lodger and his rent is deducted at source.”

“But he doesn’t even live in the house most of the time!”

“That’s his choice, not mine. As far as his father’s concerned, Jamie’s address is Maple Road, KT6. It’s not as though I’m seeing him out on the street after all, is it?”

“Just reassure me that you’re not going to dock him further just ‘cos you’re paying me as well?”

“No, he is training you after all. He’s always been happy enough with what I pay him. Besides, your expenses will be higher than his. You could do with a bit more clobber for a start.”

“Don’t you like my clothes?”

“It’s not a matter of liking them, Ray, it’s a matter of the impression you give. What you’re wearing now is fine for the day to day running of the gallery. Trouble is, it’s also fine for running down to the supermarket and back in. The gallery is nowhere near as high profile as being on the celebrity circuit but we do have to dress up for it sometimes. I’ve sometimes hosted open evenings there, receptions and so on. I’d really like you to do that sort of thing from now on, I’ve never quite trusted Jamie with it, he’s still a bit too young, really. You’ll need quality gear for that sort of event and you must never _ever_ hire a suit, people will always know.”

“I never realised people were so bloody pretentious!”

“Ray, the thing is, you’re not just selling a painting, you’re selling an image, an ideal of a lifestyle. When they look at a picture they bought at a champagne reception, they’ll remember the fizz of the bubbles, the excited chatter of the other buyers and more than anything, the sophisticated elegance of the bloke that sold it to them.”

“I sold a painting this week in Wranglers and a C&A shirt!”

“Oh my God, did you?”

“Yeah it was one of Jamie’s.”

“Oh strewth was it?”

“Don’t you like Jamie’s work?”

“No not really. It reminds me of my brother too much. You moan about pretentious people, Ray but you haven’t met him yet. With a bit of luck you never will!”

“Do you not get on?”

“No never. I was the middle child and largely ignored by my parents once my younger sister came along. I wasn’t remotely interested in the Navy which is what most of my lot are involved with. I joined an after school camera club and fell in love for the very first time. Photography was my dearest passion. My father bought me a camera of my own for my twelfth birthday and I’ve never looked back.”

“Aren’t your parents proud of you?”

“Bits of me, yes.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well they admire Sam Hayter that photographs for the broadsheets. They namedrop _him_ all over the place. They never seem to mention Terry Radcliffe or even their own son Samuel the confirmed homosexual. They’ve told me in no uncertain terms that I’m out of the family will. All that fortune will go to my brother the Captain and my sister the Wren.”

“Is that why you’re so keen to make money?”

“Yeah I s’pose it is. I’ve had to support myself and I’ve become used to a certain lifestyle. It’s important that I do what I like though. I could never be a civil servant, Ray. I mean what a bloody pointless existence is that? Sorry, love I know it suited you for a while but in my opinion, paying stuffed shirts for doing fuck all is a pure waste of my hard earned taxes!”

Doyle’s heart sank. In actuality, he _had_ been a civil servant for all his and Bodie’s jokes about the fact. He'd somehow decided that he wouldn't tell Sam about CI5. He had very mixed feelings about that part of his life. On one hand he was completely ashamed that he had fought and maimed and killed. On the other, he was proud that he had helped to keep his country safe and more than anything protected his partner from dying on numerous occasions.

Sam would never understand these things. He already had distaste for the services and had little liking for the police. He was one of the precious public that Doyle had been unobtrusively protecting for years. Sam had made something of himself through something he loved. What did Doyle have? Little now in comparison. He had a bit of a pension to look forward to when he retired, but few skills for ordinary life. He’d detested the police force when he’d finally left it but the rules and ethics of its training still pumped through his veins. He’d liked and valued his time in CI5 but it wasn’t something that he felt he could share. It was a moot point now anyway. Doyle was out of it. It had never been something he could openly discuss and he missed the strange closeness that he’d had with his colleagues. He desperately wondered what on earth he could offer the world. It was just so bloody hard. He’d had successes in the past but none that he could crow about nor even now cared about. They were past missions. He had won, at the time. He had lived. Bodie had lived. The public were safe. The bad guys had been arrested or deported or killed. At the end of the day, Doyle had just been a hired thug. What the hell would the refined art buyers think if they knew that? He declared to himself from that moment that his days of violence were over. He should be more than just a pair of hired fists. He’d had a flare of temper ever since he was fourteen and he was sick of it. There was a gentler side of life to be seen and if that meant dressing in posh clothes and talking in hushed tones, then so be it. He was grateful for the hundred notes. His savings were dwindling. Sam was all too ready to pay when they went out to eat. Doyle had little else to worry about except for his ageing motorbike which was currently rotting away in a rented garage. Sam’s modes of transport consisted of a new Range Rover and an E-Type Jaguar, neither of which Doyle had ever seen Sam drive that much. Sam rarely went anywhere without a few hundred quid on his hip however and Doyle felt inadequate. The last time he had worked simply to earn money was on the fruit market. Ever since then, his wage had become secondary to serving. He longed to talk to Bodie. Through all his brash bullshit, Bodie would understand. Bodie would listen. Bodie would know.

If only he had the courage to call Bodie, Doyle’s life would feel that much easier …

~~~oOo~~~

Bodie stared into space. He had fucked up today. Not enough to get noticed, for he had done everything by the book. He would never be blamed for the near miss, but he knew that it had happened. Murphy could have so easily have been dead. Anyone could have been except for Ray Doyle. Doyle wouldn’t have been dead because Bodie would have read him. Bodie would have felt his moves like a finger over Braille, would have sensed his responses like they were plugged into his own psyche.

Bodie was losing it. He wasn’t the unit he needed to be without Doyle. He was a danger to his colleagues. They had no idea, Cowley and his trainers even less so. He didn’t really know what to do. He couldn’t carry on with his new found knowledge, it wouldn’t be fair and it wouldn’t be right. He’d been paired too long with a partner that wasn’t ever coming back. If he continued then good people would die, of that he was sure. He had no plan like Ray however. He was getting older. He had no desires now for far flung wars. At thirty seven years old he had no ideas for any future for himself. He’d always imagined signing his papers alongside Doyle. Watching the man doing so from a covert hiding place had cut through him like a knife. CI5 was not a place for the man that he was becoming. He was burning out. He had no passion left for anything. Doyle had left him. Once upon a time he could never have imagined that. Now it was all so real apart from in his dreams. He still dreamed. Almost nightly he still dreamed. He would wake to the harsh reality that once again his imagination had fooled him. Doyle was gone.

~~~oOo~~~

Though Doyle was thrilled to have Sam at home, he didn’t see that much of him.

Doyle continued to run each morning though the exercise gave him little pleasure. Upon his return he needed to commandeer the bathroom to shower before changing. He cursed Sam’s lovely house for not having an en-suite before castigating himself for his growing snobbishness. A dishevelled Sam would surface just as Doyle was about to leave for the gallery. Doyle had turned down Sam’s kind offer to use the Range Rover, knowing there was no suitable parking within a mile of the place. The morning run put a strain on his time. He no longer had time to get bored in the mornings and rarely met Winston for tea.

In the evenings, Doyle would at last catch up with his lover and they would inevitably eat out. Doyle had attempted to cater for them both on numerous occasions, but home cooking seemed a strange concept to the household, at best attracting uninvited guests and at worst showing Sam’s complete indifference. Doyle tried to eat well given the confines of a restaurant or when choosing a takeaway. Pubs were easy, he selected salads or baked potatoes, claiming a heavy lunch but the fast food was harder. He forced down sag aloo like he was addicted to it. The scales showed that he was steadily losing the weight that he had gained, but he still felt heavy, uncomfortable and ugly in his clothes.

Doyle tried to engage Sam in conversation about the photoshoots though Sam was reticent about discussing them.

“Sorry, Ray but they’re clients. I don’t gossip about them.”

“Well would you let me watch you work?”

“You had the chance of that and you turned it down! Sorry, Ray but they’re comfortable with me and don’t really want another bloke poking his nose in.”

“What, so they want to be on Page Three but they can’t handle anyone else seeing them?”

“They’re just building their portfolios, Ray. Not all of them get their tits out, a lot of them want to get into fashion. Either way, they know that discretion is my middle name.”

Doyle didn’t really care. He had no wish whatsoever to ogle the models, he was just trying to show an interest in Sam’s work. He brushed the refusals aside. He had bigger things to be worried about. Christmas was coming.

In the last fifteen years, Christmas had always been an awkward time for Doyle. He’d been taught from a youngster that it was a time for family. He loved his sisters and they loved him right back. Unfortunately, his myriad of new brothers in law found his presence around the Christmas table an unwarranted threat. In his absence they had all jostled for alpha male status and his sudden appearance from the murky depths of a ‘secret’ job which they all quietly coveted and envied, often caused an atmosphere. Instead, he would frequently travel to Derby two or three weeks before the main event, leaving cards and gifts and pleasing his mother. This year he had no intentions of making the trip at all. He both cherished and dreaded his first Christmas in Surbiton. He had no idea how seasonal etiquette worked in a shared house and even less idea what he could buy for Sam.

On an uninspiring Saturday afternoon, he bought a tin of Quality Street for Gary and Tracy and a large mug featuring a 150th anniversary Routemaster bus for Winston. Having no idea whether Sue preferred red or white wine, he ended up buying Harvey’s Bristol Cream for her and the ‘lump of a husband’. Feeling guilty that he wouldn’t be making the journey home he chose small things for his family that would be easy to send.

Doyle had told none of his family that he had quit CI5. As he wrapped broaches, scarfs, postal orders and book tokens he pondered this. He should really tell his mother that he was now in a safer job. That would be the best gift she could ever wish to receive. It would however also cause her to want to meet Sam and for some reason, he didn’t really want that to happen just yet. She had long ago stopped wishing for grandchildren from him. She had seen enough boys come and go to admit his latent homosexuality with calm acceptance. If Sam was to be his happy ever after then he didn’t really want to announce the fact over a troubled Christmas table. He couldn’t really see Sam welcoming the invite as a guest, the man seemed to dislike his own family so much that Doyle was nervous about serving up his own. On the occasions he had been able to come, Bodie had played the part of guest so very well, accepting each invite with not only good humour but genuine enthusiasm. He’d always eaten his fill as only Bodie could, charmed all the women, surprised all the men and ultimately delighted Doyle’s mother. In the afternoons, Bodie had entertained numerous children as if he had been really enjoying himself, been the first and only volunteer to wash up and then burped and farted along with the best of them.

The following Monday, Doyle took advantage of the fact that Jamie had broken up from college and once again hit the shops. The first gift was easy, though expensive. In the art section of an exclusive book shop, he ran his fingers over the silky pages portraying the ancient sea scenes. If Jamie adored the book as much as he did, then Jamie would be a very happy boy. Sam’s gift was a different matter entirely. Doyle entered a department store half-heartedly. Immediately he could see that nothing in there even came close to Sam’s normal attire. He was about to leave when something caught his eye. Cashmere, roll necked and the exact shade of blue he had found the perfect present for Bodie. He shook himself, suddenly realising that this was now a completely unnecessary expense, about turned and marched out of the shop.

With only an hour of trading left, Doyle took himself into HMV and bought ‘The Wall’. Sam had lots of Pink Floyd in his collection but the album was too new even for Sam to have acquired. Hoping that Sam hadn’t pre-ordered a copy he paid the bill and made his way back to the bus stop. Passing Debenhams and having no idea why, Doyle darted back into the shop and grabbed the blue pullover. He held it to his face like he might a lover and then bought it without any further conscious thought.

For years, Bodie and Doyle had never bought for each other at Christmas. The gifts when they had started were small and silly, the odd water pistol or Swiss roll here and there. After a while, Doyle had matched the cost of Bodie’s well found ancient motorcycle parts with a silk tie or a decent bottle of brandy. Last year’s gift had knocked Doyle for six however. He had moaned the loss of his eighteenth birthday silver chain during a filthy op for months. When Bodie had presented him with a carbon copy replacement, he had been moved to speechlessness. He fingered the chain absently as he made for the bus in the growing dark. Once home he wrapped his gifts with care, sadly stuffing the blue jumper into his suitcase beneath the bed.

Christmas was both as good and bad as Doyle could have imagined. His mother had tried to smother her tears over the phone when he told her that he wouldn’t be visiting. He felt awful that for once CI5 was not to blame but his own deceitfulness. Sam had taken some work in Paris for the week leading up to Christmas. On Christmas Eve, Doyle had minded the gallery so that Jamie could go out with his friends. The two had exchanged gifts and Jamie was moved to tears with his beautiful book. Doyle was almost as moved by his wrapped Pot Noodle and covered Jamie’s embarrassed shame with hugs and reassurances.

Doyle arrived in Surbiton to a houseful of people with Sam at the centre of them. Sam seemed completely pissed and had faint white powder around his nostrils. Reminding himself that it was Christmas and people were perfectly entitled to enjoy themselves, Doyle kept his cool and endured the evening. Though tired himself, he drank enough to relax and at half past two finally managed to drag Sam to bed. As they were settling down, Sam mumbled to Doyle.

“Happy Christmas, Ray!”

“Well happy Christmas yourself, handsome!”

“You might be a cunt, but you’re MY cunt!”

“Eh, what did you just say?”

“You ‘eard.”

“I heard but I didn’t really understand, why did you just call me that?”

“Because you are one, Ray, please don’t ever delude yourself that you’re anything but!”

“Sam, why did you call me that?”

“Ray, Ray, Ray I know you tried! You’re sweet, you really are. Trouble is though, you’re still just a cunt.”

“Why are you saying this to me?” asked Doyle, shocked.

“Oh, Ray do I really have to spell it out? Okaaayyy I was ready to go to sleep but if you really want to drag it out then I’ll give you some home truths. You ARE a cunt of the highest order, Ray! You come here and live in my house and insult my lodgers though they’ve never done anything to hurt you. You pig out and get fat. You dress like an Oxfam reject and on top of all this you expect me to keep you!”

“What do you mean I expect you to keep me?”

“Um whose name is it on the leccy bill, Ray or the rates or for the water board? You just swan about here like you think you own the place because you think you’re pretty! Sorry son, but I got news for you. Pretty doesn’t pay bills around here. I pay them. You don’t pay that many that I’ve noticed!”

“You’ve never asked me to!”

“It would have been nice of you to offer.”

Doyle was poleaxed. He could think of many answers to Sam’s claims, but his constricted throat wouldn’t let him voice them.

“I’m so sorry, Sam I never realised! It will be better. I will be better. I promise you, I CAN be better.” he blurted out.

He waited for the apology, the assurances and the open arms of a welcome hug, but Sam let out a loud snore and Doyle realised with dismay that his lover was asleep. As it dawned on him that he now had to try and sleep himself with Sam’s ugly words echoing around in his head, Doyle’s guts turned to water. He rushed to the bathroom and only just made it before disgracing himself. He sat on the toilet sweating and shaking as the violent spasms rolled through his stomach. He panted as the last of the tremors passed before cleaning himself and then the soiled toilet. He crept back into the bedroom. Sam was dead to the world. Doyle fell asleep shedding tears that Sam Hayter would never hear.

Three hours later the alarm clock shrilled and Doyle beat it into silence before it disturbed Sam. For some unfathomable reason, he had offered to cook Christmas dinner for the household. Though he had been buying supplies for the last few days, he still had a mountain of work ahead of him if anyone was going to eat. The last thing he felt like was being near food or even being awake, for he felt truly dreadful. What he really wanted to do was run out of the house and then keep on running. He looked down at Sam who had mercifully stopped snoring. There had been no warning before Sam’s attack on him. No build-up of tension nor even the slightest suggestion that anything was wrong. Doyle had thought that they were happy.

Sam looked so peaceful. Any other day, Doyle would have longed to go over and kiss him awake, but today he had no idea if his advances would even be welcomed. He took himself to the bathroom. The mirror reflected his haggard image. His eyes were red and puffy and his skin was waxy and pale. He showered, cleaned the toilet once again and then returned to the bedroom where he silently dressed.

The kitchen was a disaster area. Cans bottles and glasses littered every surface. Half eaten mince pies mingled with overflowing ashtrays. There wasn’t room to make a sandwich never mind a festive meal and sighing, Doyle put himself to work. Fortunately his poultry was ready to roast and he slammed it in the oven before starting on the clean up operation.

By eight o’clock, Doyle had finally spruced the kitchen to perfection and was preparing his vegetables. He had no idea how many people he was catering for. He’d had a luke warm response from Gary and Tracy when he’d made the offer of cooking. Winston was off to see his student girlfriend but had promised to be back sometime bringing her with him. Jamie had given the impression that he would rather not attend and Doyle hadn’t pushed him. It was Christmas however and Doyle was darned if he was going to guzzle takeaway curry on Christmas Day. As he sat down with a cup of tea, he wished that he was in Derby. His mother ran Christmas like a military operation. All the family laughed at her culinary timetable. Few scoffed at the results she produced. Doyle had never particularly cared for Christmas, work had often seen to that, but now, sharing it with people who seemed to value it even less made him feel homesick and lonely.

Winston entered the kitchen and looked round amazed.

“Wow, Ray, mon you performed a miracle in here!”

“I needed room to cook, Winston. Will you be here for dinner?”

“Course I will, mon, and if its’s still okay, I’ll bring Maisie with me.”

“That’s great, I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

“Oh thanks, Ray we’ve never done anything like this in the house before, it’s great! I have to go though. Maisie is a while away and it’s much easier when all the busses are running!”

“How are you getting to her then?”

“Walking, mon, how else on Christmas day? We’ll be slower walking back though, she’s Jamaican. Not used to walking so far, her country’s that much smaller!”

Doyle chuckled and waved off Winston wishing that he had the time to drive his friend towards his date. He peeled potatoes with a sense of foreboding. He dreaded Sam waking and fruitlessly tried to switch off the awful memories that were invading his mind. He was so deep in thought that he almost missed Sam bounce into the kitchen.

“Hey, Ray, happy Christmas!”

He rushed over, grabbed Doyle’s waist, spun him round and proceeded to kiss him noisily. Doyle was stunned and simply stared at Sam wordlessly.

“Hey come on, Mister Misery, it’s Christmas, what’s up with you?”

“Like you have to ask?”

“Hey come on, Ray, you _did_ offer to cook. If you want a hand just give one of us a shout, no need to suffer in silence with it!”

“I’m not talking about the bloody cooking, Sam, I’m talking about all those things you said to me last night!”

“What things?”

“Calling me a … well what you called me, and saying that I sponge off you.”

“Did I? Oh god, Ray I don’t remember a bloody thing! I’m sorry if I shouted my mouth off, I do that sometimes and never, ever mean what I say. I really don’t remember saying anything to you!”

“Oh you told me exactly what you thought of me. I half expected to be getting my marching orders this morning!”

“Oh, Ray, sweetheart don’t be so silly! I love having you here, we all do! You’re so good for me, Ray and I love you SO much. Forgive me for being an arsehole, I did a line or two that’s all, had no idea what I was saying obviously. Don’t let it spoil today, it’s our first Christmas together. Let’s make it one to remember, eh?”

If Sam had been high rather than drunk it would explain his rather irritating lack of a hangover. Doyle was so relieved at the change of mood however that he allowed Sam to kiss him again before responding with interest himself.

The rest of the day was fine. Gary and Tracy spent much of their day visiting various relatives and arrived back at four closely followed by Winston and his charming lady friend. By five they had all eaten heartily and toasted Doyle the chef. He presented his gifts much to the embarrassment of the lodgers who hadn’t bought for him in return. Sam seemed thrilled with Pink Floyd and presented Doyle with an armload of professionally wrapped gifts which caused Doyle’s cheeks to flame with embarrassment of his own. He received the chic shirts and ties with what he hoped was suitable gratitude and was just about to leave the table when Sam caught his wrist.

“There’s just one more, Ray. This one’s a special one.”

Doyle looked down at the small parcel with more dread than excitement but all eyes were now on him so he opened it carefully in front of them all. His heart sank a little when he saw the contents. It was a chain nearly the same as the one he always wore. The only difference as a little sticker informed him, was that this one was made from twenty two carat gold.

“Thought you might like to upgrade a bit, Ray. Let me put it on you?”

Doyle parted his hair and Sam swiftly put the necklace on him at the same time as depositing his old one somewhere amongst the detritus on the table.

“Oh, Ray, gold looks amazing on you! Happy Christmas babe!”

Doyle had no idea what to say but Sam took his escaping tears as those of grateful appreciation. A relaxed evening followed, Doyle mellowing himself with plenty of Christmas spirit. Nobody seemed particularly interested in being in the kitchen when he started to clear dishes, but there were ample leftovers that he was loathe to waste and he was happy enough to wave the others away whilst he put the place to rights. At seven o’clock the doorbell rang. The caller turned out to be Jamie and Doyle was overjoyed to see him.

“Any grub going? I was down to my last Pot Noodle!”

“Jamie what have you being doing all day?”

“Finishing Bulwark. I know it’s Christmas and everything, Ray but it was an itch that I had to scratch and I just couldn’t leave it. Still it’s done now.”

“Don’t you want to see your parents at Christmas?”

“Wouldn’t make much difference if I did. Father’s on retention which means that he’s more or less semi-retired. He only does about four trips a year and never at Christmas. Then they take themselves somewhere very hot and expensive. I’m not usually invited and quite glad of the fact.”

“Well it’s great to have you here now. Do I take it from your bag that you’re staying tonight?”

“Oh god yeah, took me long enough to get here as it was. Wanted to be here though, something I wanted to give to you. Ray I was blown away by the book, nobody’s ever really bought anything like that for me before, I’m so bloody grateful!”

Doyle looked down at the carefully wrapped present. It revealed a tiny picture of the Santa Maria.

“It’s was the first time I ever worked in oils. I was going to present it as an exam piece but I’d much rather you had it. Sorry it’s only a cameo, I’d like to have given you one of the big ones but I know Uncle Sam wouldn’t let you have wall space for one of them.”

“Jamie, this is beautiful! I can’t accept it though, not if you were going to use it for your course!”

“Oh it was just a silly idea really, a comparison of my artwork over the years and shipping through the ages. It didn’t really work out too well as I haven’t got many earlier pieces left to compare to the new. Soon as I used oil paint I was a convert and threw out heaps of old sketches and drawings which I now wish I’d kept. Still we live and learn. I’m happy enough with what I have got and I’d like to think that ‘Maria’ is going to a good home.”

“In that case, I’ll treasure her. Thanks for coming, Jamie, it’s meant the world to me.”

January hailed cold and bleak. Sam found himself here there and everywhere chasing pictures after the announcement that British Steel was staging its first national strike for more than fifty years. Doyle missed his presence not least because he wanted to have a serious talk about money. He continued to run each morning though the exercise didn’t seem to be getting any easier. His diet was managed far easier however without Sam being around. By day he lived on black coffee and occasional tins of tuna fish. By night when alone, he drowned his lonely sorrows with cheap lager chased by even cheaper vodka. He avoided the hated weighing scales like the plague and cursed his failing body continuously. The exclusive shirts that Sam had bought him for Christmas were a tight fit and ashamed to ask for replacements, Doyle’s dearest wish was to fit into them.

Though the gallery work was fine, Jamie was proving to be rather a pain. He seemed constantly concerned about Doyle’s welfare, mentioned his weight far too often for comfort and generally tried to poke his nose in where it definitely wasn’t wanted. Doyle still liked the boy immensely and often wondered what he’d do without Jamie being near. Occasionally they would frequent the pub and the delightful beer served there would loosen Doyle’s tongue more than he would have ideally liked.

“Have you got many other friends, Ray? I only ever see you with Sam’s lot, but they don’t really strike me as your type?”

“Not really but I’m used to that. I’ve got a few old mates up North I sometimes catch up with. I had a few friends when I was in art school but the successful ones are too busy to speak to you and the failures just want to just forget about the whole thing. My last job didn’t really encourage you to make friends, it was safer that way.”

“You never talk about that job, do you?”

“Don’t want to, don’t need to.”

“Were you a policeman?”

“Sam asked me that, too.”

“And what was your answer?”

“I didn’t give him one, it didn’t really matter. Truth is I _was_ a copper once. That was years ago though, all in the past.”

“So what _was_ your last job?”

“I was a go-go dancer at the Moulin Rouge.”

“Evasion will only make me even more curious, Ray.”

“Ok, I was a window cleaner.”

“They don’t normally carry Civil Servant status, Ray.”

“Christ you can be a nosy little bastard, look I can’t really talk about my old job, okay?”

“Tell me what it was and then p’raps, I’ll understand.”

“Why do you want to know so bad?”

“Because I’m a nosy little bastard!”

“Oh for god’s sake! Look I worked for CI5, alright? It’s a Government agency. I was licenced to carry a firearm and I got beaten up all the time. We weren’t really encouraged to make friends because you knew every single day that there was a very real chance that one of your ‘friends’ could end up becoming very very dead.”

“Does Sam know what you did?”

“No he doesn’t and I’d rather it stayed that way.”

“Why, don’t you share things between you?”

“Not all things, no. Sam would never understand CI5.”

“Wouldn’t he, why?”

“Look, Sam is associated with the press. CI5 hate the press and the press hate CI5. Sam also lives in a world that encompasses drugs and all sorts of practices that I would have to call in if I was still an agent.”

“So you love Sam more than you loved CI5?”

“You got it in one, kid. I don’t need friends, I don’t need CI5 and I don’t need bloody Bodie!”

“Bodie? Who’s Bodie?”

~~~~~

Sam was finally home for good at the weekend. Doyle could see that the man was tired but he was desperate to talk to him. He’d cooked a simple but delicious meal and had good wine on tap.

“I want to talk to you about money, Sam.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, why are so bloody worried about it, Ray? You’re money mad, you! We’ve got enough to get by, just stop going on about it!”

“I want to pay my way though. I want you pay me the same way you pay Jamie. I want you to deduct rent at source so that I’m paying into the household. And I’m gonna sell my bike.”

“Bike, what bike?”

“My motorbike. And I’m going to give up the garage.”

“I never knew you rode a bike.”

“Well I don’t really now. I’ve been restoring a Manx Norton for the last four years.”

“Doesn’t sound as sexy as a Harley Davidson.”

“Oh God, I had one of those once! Was my dream for years to own one. Was a shit to ride, spares cost a bomb and I looked like a right dickhead riding it.”

“Sorry, Ray but I don’t really know what you’re on about.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna sell the bike and put the money back into the house. I DO want to pay my way, Sam.”

“Yeah, whatever you say, Ray. Is there a chance that some food’s gonna be ready any time soon?”

~~~oOo~~~

Bodie had been after Lenny Goble for days. Lenny was all too apparent when he had complete crap to impart. When he had useful information that Bodie wanted and that he knew Bodie wanted, he was nowhere to be seen. Cursing the loss of Doyle’s usefulness in influencing such unreliable grasses, Bodie let his hand slip from Len’s greasy collar when he spied the bike. Ignoring the fact that Lenny had scarpered, Bodie stared at Doyle’s old Norton in Arthur Price’s window before entering the showroom.

“That’s Doyle’s old bike.”

“Well good afternoon to you too, Mr Bodie and how very perceptive you are!”

“Don’t fuck with me, Arthur, I bought most of the bits on it as well you know! How much did you give him for it?”

“I paid a fair price!”

“Why did he sell it to you?”

“I imagine it was because he didn’t want it anymore.”

“You’re trying my patience, Arthur. Was it a trade in?”

“Not with me. Far as I know, he’s giving up. Tom the garage owner says there might be a space coming available when Mr Doyle’s lease is up.”

“So how much did you give him for it?”

“A gentleman never tells, Mr Bodie.”

“The difference between you and a gentleman is the difference between chalk and cheese you fucking old shark, but I’ll rephrase the question. How much are you going to sell it to me for?”

“I suppose I could let it go for say, four fifty?”

“Which means you gave Doyle two hundred quid for it! Is it rideable?”

“Not far off, it just needs the carb fitting which he supplied and it would probably go alright.”

“Okay how much extra for you to store it for me?”

“If you were to give me five hundred pounds in cash, Mr Bodie I promise that I will keep it in the most pristine of conditions till beyond our dying days.”

“If you don’t want CI5 poking about into your affairs nor my own personal wrath, you’d bloody well better!” said Bodie peeling off a deposit. “Now get it out of that window and start cleaning it. And I want a bloody receipt!”

“As you say, Mr Bodie.”

Arthur walked away rubbing his hands together. People who bought bikes with their hearts were his true bread and butter. The fact that he had shifted Ray Doyle’s old heap so quickly was just cause for early closure and a few well deserved pints.

~~~oOo~~~

Doyle was thrilled to see Sam’s satchel in the hallway. Jamie had offered to man the gallery as Doyle had seemed so ill the day before. It was nothing that he could really put his finger on, he just felt so weak and tired. He’d woken at five, wrestled with the idea of running and finally slumped back into sleep, blessing Jamie. Nobody seemed apparent in the house at nine o’clock, so Doyle made coffee for Sam which he carried through into the studio. Sam was nowhere to be seen but obviously had an appointment booked as his cameras were lined up and ready on their stands.

Doyle loved cameras. He’d learned little about them until he’d joined CI5 but that had taught him all he needed to know about how special they could be. He was drawn to the Pentax on the centre stand. It was a much newer version of what he had used so many times on the squad. It was so much sleeker, so less cumbersome. Without thinking, he rushed forward and lifted the camera from its stand with absolute awe. It was indeed a beautiful thing. He studied the F-stops with fascination whilst supporting the swankiest lens that he’d ever held. He’d swear ever after that he couldn’t help it. The barked command nearly scared him out of his skin.

“Put that down now! Who the fuck said you could touch it?”

Three things happened at once. Doyle heard the same tone of voice that Sam had used with him early on Christmas day morning, his own bowels loosened with alarming ferocity and he dropped the camera onto the tiled floor. He didn’t even see the punch that was coming towards him. The first thing he knew was trying to see through the greyness.

Doyle had been knocked out enough times. This wasn’t so bad though, struggling through grey was so much easier than coming up from the black. He strained to hear the reassuring words, the antiseptic smell or anything to tell him that he was on his way back. He opened his eyes to a mist of red. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, one of his pupils must had blown. He waited to hear a young nurse telling him how well he was doing or Bodie going on about how stupid he was. He heard neither. When his vision cleared, he saw Sam looking down at him like he was some kind of wild animal.

“Waking up then are you, you fucking arsehole?”

“Sam, I … I…”

“Fucking save it, Ray. No one ever, EVER touches my cameras. Imbeciles like you prove exactly why not. Have you any idea what you might have cost me next week without that lens?”

“Isn’t it insured?” Doyle croaked.

“What difference does that make, I need it next week not next fucking month!”

Doyle felt a bit lost. No one had attempted to make him more comfortable and no one it seemed, was going to. Doyle knew that even when he had deserved a pounding there had usually been someone there afterwards to help him. He tried to pull knowledge from his training.

‘Survive, Doyle. Don’t try to think, don’t try to talk. Your blood’s needed in your vital organs. Don’t waste oxygen. The enemy can’t break you if you can’t talk. They can’t hurt you if you can’t feel. They can’t finish you if you don’t respond …’

Doyle closed his eyes and thankfully, Sam went away. Doyle was confused. He was tired and drained. He wasn’t badly hurt but there was something stopping him from bouncing back as he normally would. He was just so darned tired! Turning forty was a laughable thing for many men, but for him it had become a liability. He couldn’t run, he was turning to fat, Christ he couldn’t even hold a camera steady! No wonder Sam was starting to loathe him. Bodie would had laughed at him. Cowley would have turned his back on a bad lot.

All the people that were having the last laugh could now shine. Cathy Mason, Ann Holly, May-li, William Bodie, they could all smile knowingly now. Doyle had been slapped down and was happily staying were he’d been slapped. He felt like nothing. He was stupid and worthless. He had tried to put himself into Sam’s world like the idiot he was. He would never belong there.

Had he ever belonged anywhere? He’d broken his own mother’s heart when he’d taken a place at art school a month after his father’s death. His whistleblowing of the Lime house Police division seemed trivial these days. He’d done a few good things in CI5 but was now happily living amongst users of hard drugs. He wondered through the grey haze if he should come back at all. If Jamie’s voice hadn’t called through the mist, he probably wouldn’t have bothered that hard. Jamie was a nice kid. Jamie was worth it. Jamie, unknown to himself responsible for giving Ray Doyle any will to live at all that day. Doyle wondered what on earth Jamie was even doing there, he didn’t spend much time in the house. Sam had called Jamie having little other idea how to cope with his loudmouthed and now comatose lover.

“It’s okay, Ray, you take a nice sleep if you need to. Make sure you come back though. I need you here, Ray. We all love you, Ray. I love you. Richard would love you and I’m certain that Bodie must love you too.”

Doyle woke draped in a blanket. Sam was looking over him with concern on his face.

“Sam? What happened?”

“I’ve no idea, sweetheart! You collapsed here in the studio.”

“My eye hurts.”

“You fell on it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Well I dunno, you were pissed I s'pose!”

“I came in here in the morning!”

“How are you feeling?”

“Um better I guess, where’s Jamie?”

“At the gallery I should think, why?”

“He was here. I’m sure Jamie was here.”

“Ray, you were shot away. What do you remember?”

“Um, I dropped the camera. I never meant to! Is it okay? Can it be repaired?”

“Ray, it’s all fine! The camera is fine. You fell down and hurt your eye. We let you sleep. You were out for few hours so we left you to rest. How are you now, sweetheart?”

“Nothing that shooting me wouldn’t cure!”

“Ray!"

“Sorry, Sam I’m just in a foul mood. I’ve felt bloody ill for the last week and it’s driving me mad. I’m normally fit and healthy.”

“Perhaps you need to try looking after yourself a bit better?”

“Yes, Sam perhaps I do! I’m sorry I hurt the camera, I’m normally more careful!”

“Oh, Ray! It’s just a camera! You dropped it that’s all! Accidents happen. I was all for calling an ambulance but Jamie said that you’d be fine and you were!”

Doyle shot Hayter a dark look.

“So Jamie was here! And you ... you hit me!”

Hayter’s voice became menacing.

“I don’t remember doing that, Ray and neither do you, _do_ you? You were probably just pissed, alright, tripped over a tripod or something and fell and hurt your eye just like I told you. It was a simple accident best forgotten about. Please don’t make a thing of this, sweetheart as I could make it very nasty for you. That stuff is worth a small fortune!”

“And I’m worth a lot less I take it?”

“You said that, not me. You have a premium home here because of those cameras.”

“So that entitles you to punch me?”

“You have to learn, Ray. The world doesn’t owe you a living and neither do I!”

“So I have an accident and that entitles you to hit me?”

“Fuck, me, YES! If you insist on nosing about in my studio, then you have to play by the rules! If you hurt my stuff then I’ll hurt you back, Ray. You can cry for Jamie as much as you like but I swear I’ll blind you the next time you damage my equipment!”

Doyle had been told. He knew now where he stood. He was as worthless as he’d feared. He’d managed to make Sam hate him in such a short time.

Sam hadn’t realised that Jamie was still in the house. To be honest, Sam didn’t realise much when he was flying on coke or speed. Jamie recognised the signs all too well. He had been too young to rescue Richard, he wondered if he was now old enough to rescue Ray …

Sam flew to Milan the following day. He didn’t indicate how long he’d be gone and Doyle didn’t ask. Sometimes the two were better apart, it allowed the dust to settle. Doyle took a few days off from the gallery but being at home made him more depressed so before the end of the week he went in. Jamie was on his case almost immediately.

“You need to try get out and see more people, Ray. You’ve gotten too dependent on Sam and he’s walking all over you!”

“Look I deserve what happened, Sam was right. I shouldn’t have gone anywhere near his stuff and look what happened when I did!”

“Just listen to yourself, Ray! He even tried to deny landing you one, made out that you’d got pissed and fell over! I heard him threatening you, just stop making bloody excuses for him!”

“Look it’s over now and Sam’s away for a while. The break will do us good, it usually does.”

“Look why don’t you call your friend Bodie?”

“Why do keep going on about Bodie? I wish I’d never mentioned him! Thanks for the concern and everything but I don’t try and organise your social life for you, so why do you feel the need to do it for me?”

“Because I don’t spend all my time in The Hammer House of Horrors like you do!”

Fortunately, a customer suddenly wanted further information about a painting and Doyle was spared the rest of the lecture as Jamie went to see to their needs. The respite was only temporary as straight after lunch, Jamie was at it again.

“I’m worried about you, Ray. You’ve changed. You were so happy when you first came here and now your just like a … a shadow! You’ve lost so much weight … God you’re not ill or something, are you?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It was weight I needed to lose. I was getting fat and lazy, I had to do something!”

“I suppose Sam told you that did he?”

“Yeah and he was right!”

“Look, Ray just please call your friend. Or maybe go and see your family or something? Just don’t sit about pining for Sam all the time only to let him tear strips off you as soon as he gets back.”

“I did call Bodie a few times after I left CI5. Never caught him in. Very much doubt he’d wanna speak to me. I abandoned him after all.”

“What’s he like?”

Doyle’s face brightened suddenly. “He can be irritating as Hell, moody, argumentative and just loves being right all the time. He’s … he’s also the funniest and most caring person I know. I miss him so much sometimes, Jamie …”

“Call him then. Go on, call him right now!”

“I couldn’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Well we’re working for a start! Besides, it’s been too long. He wouldn’t want to hear from me after all this time.”

“So you expect me to believe you were this tough CI5 guy, but you’re too chicken to call your own friend?”

“Pass me that phone, you fucking little shit!”

Doyle’s fingers trembled slightly as he dialled and he didn’t notice Jamie copy the numbers down on his wrist as he did so.

After a minute, Doyle gave up. “No reply.”

“Well never mind, try again later then.”

Jamie didn’t push Ray any further. He had Bodie’s number and that was all he’d wanted. He had no idea if this Bodie chap would be of any help but he felt completely out of his own depth. He had no wish whatsoever to see history repeating itself. If he’d been wise he would have minded his own business and kept well out of it but Richard had been good to him and Ray was nice. Too nice to be fucked around by his selfish shit of an uncle. He wondered why people got into relationships if all they wanted to do was hurt other people.

Sam arrived back from Milan, tired but happy. If Doyle had been apprehensive about the homecoming, he’d had no reason to be.

“You’re starting to look really good, Ray! Maybe there is something to that running lark after all. I’m proud of you, sweetheart, well done!”

“Er, thanks!”

“I’ve been wondering, Ray.”

“Yeah wondering what?”

“Well you know how you’re always worried about money all the time and feeling bad about not giving enough back? Well how would you fancy earning a little extra?”

“Doing what?” replied Doyle with dread.

“Model for me?”

“Eh?”

“Model for me for an afternoon, in front of the camera.”

“With my kit off?”

“Preferably, yes!”

“Why you know someone who wants a picture of me in the nuddy?”

“Well yeah, me! I don’t want to sell your picture, Ray I want to keep it!”

“Do you?”

“Yeah course I do! You’re lookin’ good. I fancy a little project, what better subject than the man I love? Would you do it for me, Ray?”

“You really serious?”

“Sure I am!”

“Oh, Sam in that case, of course I will!”

The photo shoot was a much needed boost to Doyle’s confidence. Sam was such a natural when it came to putting a subject at ease. It was years since Doyle had modelled but after a few well-chosen compliments from Sam, he felt the old streak of exhibitionism flowing through his veins and he chuckled at himself. Halfway through the session Sam suggested a much needed break and Doyle, sitting in little more than a small towel happily chatted away.

“Ray do you remember me mentioning that I fancy doing work with video?”

“Yeah kind of. I’m no porn star though if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“Do you think you’d be able to move about in front of a movie camera though? The stills themselves are gonna be fantastic. I’d love to see what else I can do with you!”

“We’ll I’d give it a go I s’pose but you’d have to tell me what I’d need to do.”

The video shoot was far less successful. There was a sexual undertone to it that Doyle had never sensed whilst posing before and when Hayter suggested they introduce another model, Doyle was far from comfortable and cried off from any more filming.

“I can’t wait to get the stills processed, Ray. P’raps you might feel differently about the video after you’ve seen them?”

“I doubt it. Acting’s not my thing and I can’t really see why you’d want to see me with another bloke?”

“It’s just art, Ray! The human body is a beautiful thing. The things it can do in action can be even more beautiful if they’re filmed right. Still if you’re not interested, that’s fine, you still did a great job today, thanks, babe.”

The following week, Jamie was thrilled at Doyle’s change in mood.

“Ray you look so much happier, are things better with Sam?”

“Yeah things are great! I modelled for him and he was really pleased with me!”

Jamie turned pale.

“You modelled? Did you have any clothes on?”

“Er, well no.”

“I’m sorry, Ray I don’t want to hear any more, thanks.”

“Jamie, what’s wrong? It’s not like I haven’t done life modelling before, there’s nothing wrong with it, loads of students do it.”

“I don’t, and I never fuckin’ well will again!”

“Jamie!”

“Sorry, Ray but I told you, I’m not that way inclined!”

“Jamie, what are you talking about? You don’t have to be queer to be a model, loads of kids do it for a few extra quid, there’s nothing sordid in it, it’s just a part of being at art school!”

“Oh Uncle Sam tell you that did he? Well sorry if I don’t agree, Ray but as far as I’m concerned that’s just complete fucking bullshit.”

Doyle was astonished to see the angry defiant tears spring from his suddenly foul mouthed colleague’s eyes. He was about to defend his actions again when realisation suddenly hit him.

“Oh shit. It was you in Sam’s album wasn’t it? You with that other bloke?”

Jamie’s face hardened and he pressed his lips tighter together.

“Tell me, Jamie, was it you?”

“Sam said it would save me a packet on the rent. It was okay at first, I didn’t mind the photos on my own quite so much.”

“What happened, Jamie? Come on you can tell me, you trust me don’t you?” Doyle had flipped over the gallery’s sign to ‘CLOSED’ without Jamie even noticing.

Jamie’s face turned to stone and he answered like a robot.

“He brought this man in. Said it would be fun. Said the photos would be beautiful. They gave me something to drink and then everything went a bit fuzzy. The man was nice. He was called Giles and he really _was_ nice to me. He hurt me though, Ray. By God it hurt like nothing else I’d ever felt. I thought I was going to die. They were both nice to me afterwards but I never stayed in the house after that. I’d not set foot inside the studio in three years until I saw that you’d been hurt.”

“My God, you think they drugged you?”

“I’m sure they did. The pictures on my own were bad enough, but when that other bloke turned up, I’d really had enough. I tried to tell them, but they just wouldn’t listen to me.”

“So you _did_ actually tell them that you wanted out?”

“Of course I did Ray, I didn’t want any of it! I was just a scared kid and he was my damn uncle.”

Doyle’s future suddenly narrowed to a tiny pinprick of light in the far distance. He was in a relationship with a selfish bully who also happened to be boss. He had no real money of his own, nowhere that he could call home apart from Hayter’s house and no true friends except Jamie. He had lost his ideals, his health and his self-respect. Suddenly the shutters fell from his eyes and he faced the true horror of what he had done. Walking away from his own life had been a monumental mistake. Bodie and Cowley had both tried to warn him but he had ignored them both, his dearest and most trusted allies, to strive for a love that he now knew he could never realise. He’d never seen what he was losing, or at the very least chosen not to look. He’d hadn’t really _loved_ his job in CI5 but he’d been good at it and felt that he’d made some sort of difference. He’d not made a fortune but he’d been able to support himself. He’d never suffered fools gladly but now he was the biggest fool of all. He’d lost his sense of self, he’d lost his hopes and dreams and most painful of all, he’d lost Bodie. He hadn’t lost Jamie however. He had one last task to complete before the light at the end of the tunnel winked out. He had to help his last remaining friend.

~~~oOo~~~

Bodie stared at the new equipment with dislike. Most agents had welcomed the introduction of an answering machine onto their domestic lines. Bodie hadn’t willingly answered his white phone for as long as he could remember, not that it had rung that often. Most people avoided him now. In their opinion, he still did his job well enough but was a waste of time socially. He longed to speak to Doyle though he had no idea what he really wanted to say to the man. He’d rarely let his personal feelings affect his work but now Doyle was consuming his every thought. He was clinging to a past that could never become a future. His niggling feelings that Doyle might somehow need him were wishful thinking flights of fancy. Ray was happy now. He was in love, living in a beautiful house with an attractive, successful bloke and Bodie couldn’t compete with that.

All Bodie had left was a heap of rusting metal that he would never ever part with. He was imploding. Ray Doyle had got under his skin and was showing no signs of crawling his way back out again. For the first time in his life, Bodie recognised true love for what it really was, a tearing ripping longing that surpassed anything else in his life. Such a shame he had realised it all too very late.

~~~oOo~~~

Taking advantage of Sam away chasing pre-Olympic footage in Moscow, Doyle closed the gallery until further notice. Between them, he and Jamie cobbled together enough money to hire a Transit van and on a rainy Tuesday morning, transported all of Jamie’s works to Slade.

The gallery studio looked strangely bare after the removal of Jamie’s paintings. The friends had no real idea what to say to each other and eventually both spoke at the same time, laughing at themselves.

“You’re free now, Jamie. You’ve worked so hard, make all that effort count eh?”

“Hey, I’m not gone yet! I’m still here at the gallery till the end of the week, unless you’re actually trying to get rid of me that is?”

“No course I’m not! You can stay for as long as you like as far as I’m concerned, I just thought you’d want a few nights of going out with your friends and relaxing now that schools out?”

“I gave Uncle Sam a leaving date and he’ll stick to that like glue. If I’m not here he won’t pay me and to be honest I could use the cash.”

“Well I wouldn’t tell him.”

“Oh he’d find out somehow. Besides, I really like my time here with you. This place wasn’t like work anymore once you came along. It’s been great, Ray, thanks. I don’t want to leave you to be honest. You’re not really happy are you?”

“Jamie, you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve made my own choices and I’ve made my own mistakes, but I’m a big boy, I’ll survive.”

Doyle listened to his own words wishing that he even believed them himself. He would miss Jamie desperately. It was strange to think that the only good thing to have come out of the past months was his friendship with this odd, reserved boy that he had met on his first day of work at the gallery. He envied Jamie his bright future. He’d never been one to wish for someone else’s life but he was falling into such a state of depression that he would gratefully swap places with anyone rather than be the man that he felt he had become.

He longed to invite Jamie to the pub but the boy looked dead on his feet. They made their goodbyes but rather than make for the dark leafy quiet of Surbiton, Doyle turned his head towards bright lights and alcoholic oblivion.

Jamie had desperately hoped that Ray might suggest a pint but he hadn’t pushed as the man had looked so very tired. He opened a Vesta curry, washed up in his tiny shower cubicle and for the third night running, silently padded down to the gallery and reached for the phone.

~~~oOo~~~

Bodie looked at the ringing telephone with disinterest until the answering machine suddenly cut in almost surprising him out of his chair. He listened in fascination as an unknown voice started to fill his living room.

“Er hello? I’m … I’m sorry I didn’t know you had an answering machine and I really hate talking into these things. I hope this is the right number, but I’m trying to contact a Mister Bodie? My name is James Hayter and I have a friend called Ray Doyle. If this is Mr Bodie’s number than could he please call me back please? I’m a bit worried about my friend Ray and I was wondering if Mr Bodie might be able to help somehow? I’m here until the end of the week and the number is 01 …”

Bodie snatched up the receiver.

“This is Bodie.”

“Oh, Hello! I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr Bodie but …”

“What’s up with Ray?”

“Um, er well hopefully nothing, but I don’t really think so. As I said I really didn’t mean to bother you, I mean I don’t even know you but … but… ”

Bodie listened in astonishment as inexplicably, the disembodied person on the end of the line burst into sudden gasping tears.

An hour’s conversation later and Bodie had heard all that he needed to.

~~~oOo~~~

Doyle was too tired to be drinking so heavily. Far from becoming relaxed after his day lugging canvasses, his anger was spiking. He moved from place to place as sharp eyed barmen recognising his dark looks of intent vowed to serve him no more. Finally realising that he was running out of cash, he lurched towards a tube station and somehow made his way home.

As he walked up the gravelled drive he noted that the front door was hanging open. Loud music was pumping from within the house and as he strode through the hall he passed strangers smoking and laughing on either side of him. The kitchen was filled with people with a caterwauling Gary at the centre of them. He ignored them all, grabbed a bottle of vodka from the worktop and carried on purposefully through to the studio slamming the door behind him.

He slumped shakily to the floor necking the bottle as he did so. Bitter tears stung his eyes as images filled his mind, images of Jamie begging his uncle to stop the shoot and leave him alone. The more Doyle tipped the bottle to his lips the louder the begging became. He felt an intense pressure build within himself that threatened to blow him to smithereens if it didn’t get out and panting heavily, he rose to his feet and staggered towards the photo albums. He homed in on the black books. He flicked through the first few pages. They looked totally different now that he knew who the subject was. Somewhere there were similar pictures of himself but he didn’t care about that. He was an adult and had made his own stupid choices. Jamie was a kind gentle boy who had been disabused by his own uncle. Angry beyond measure Doyle tore at the thick pages. The paper was stronger than it looked and when the first rip appeared to split his young friend’s image in two, Doyle became utterly enraged at life’s injustices. Crazed with bitterness he stared around the studio, hatred boiling in his veins. He didn’t question the fact that the cameras were set upon their stands indicating Sam’s return, the sheer sight of them inflamed him all the more. Crawling with disgust he launched himself upon the Pentax, howling a devil cry as he slammed his fists into the sharp guts of the device. The fact that the much maligned damaged lens had been so easily replaced didn’t escape him. A red mist which had nothing to do with retinal damage descended and Doyle went truly berserk. He kicked and stamped on camera stands, belted a pretty little Canon to its final resting place, clawed holes in Sam’s silver umbrellas with his nails and finally slumped back into a corner dazed and defeated.

The door shot open and Sam looked down at Doyle, amazed. Somehow the noise from the kitchen had completely faded as if the partygoers had finally realised where they weren’t welcome.

“Came home in a bad mood then did you, Ray?” Sam sneered. “Happens to us all I guess. Trouble is for you is that I told you what would happen if you ever touched my stuff again. I think we can honestly say that you’ve passed that stage, don’t you? I dunno what this little stunt was all about but …”

“He was your fucking nephew you cunt! You knew he didn’t want it but you had some bloke do him just to get some fucking photographs!”

“Oh don’t come the high horse with me, Ray you bloody little idiot! I’ve got so many written signatures from Jamie I could’ve shagged him perfectly legally myself if I’d wanted to! Christ I thought he whined until I met you! Not as much as you will though. I warned you what would happen if you went near my gear again. You’ve really annoyed me now, Ray. Your face is really starting to piss me right off! So much so that I feel the need to rearrange it a bit.”

All the earlier beer was starting to catch up with Doyle. He made a poor show of defending himself when Hayter started to rain down blows upon him. He zoned out for a moment. Surrounded in a peaceful corona of quiet, pretty images floated through his mind. With every assault to his body, a different picture appeared. A sharp kick to the ribs brought a lovely scene of his parents, both still alive and happy together. A hard stamping on his stomach made him forcefully expel air but also exposed a view of two men. Sid Parker and George Cowley presented themselves, sitting in an English country garden, taking amiably. A suede covered foot booted him just behind the ear. Okay that one must have been pretty serious as he saw with his own eyes the chute of blood that erupted from his throat. The sight of Jamie offering him a fork to share his Pot Noodle still came floating into view. As Sam’s drug enhanced grip closed around his neck, Doyle smiled as Bodie’s picture swam into focus.

‘Sorry Sam, but you lose, old son. No one ever beat us two. We ALWAYS looked after each other!’

A few moments before Sam Hayter managed to squeeze the remaining life from Ray Doyle, a fist with the force of a bulldozer slammed into his face breaking his nose and rendering him unconscious.

Doyle found standing and walking surprisingly easy after that. To the astounded onlookers in the kitchen, he looked like a broken bleeding man walking away from a battlefield. Within his drunken dream, Doyle felt like a warrior. He dismissed his belongings. He probably wouldn’t need them any more after this. He walked out of the front door and carried on walking.

He didn’t really know the distance or even the exact direction. It wasn’t a trip he’d normally make on foot but it was the only place that he really had left. His head was too smashed to even feel relief that he had, as always, got his keys in his back pocket. At four thirty on a Wednesday morning, Ray Doyle collapsed in his rented garage, sweet memories warring with hideous imagery inside his swollen brain. He vaguely noticed the cold and damp as he passed out. Tom had been charging him far too much for this shithole …

~~~oOo~~~

On Thursday morning, Bodie got his first look his phantom caller. The youth was as pale as a ghost and looked as poor as a church mouse. Dressed in faded denims and a tee shirt riddled with holes, the lad was only waiting for Bodie’s presence before making his permanent escape from Surbiton. Sixth sense alerted Jamie to Bodie. Three years of watching customers had given him a good eye.

“I’m sorry, Mr Bodie, but he’s gone! There was a fight. Ray put Sam in hospital. I wasn’t there but I’ve heard that Ray walked out of the house half dead. No one knows where he went. He never deserved my uncle, nobody ever did. I care about Ray, Mr Bodie and I’m sure that he cares about you. Please find out what’s happened to him! My father’s coming to pick me up to take me home in a few days, but I can stay here until you have any news.”

“Jamie, did he have any money on him do you know? Has he got a car? He might have gone back to his family but I don’t want to worry them if he hasn’t, not yet at least.”

“Well we struggled last week to hire a van between us so he hasn’t got much money that I know of. He hasn’t got a car and Uncles Sam’s are both still at the house. I didn’t see him but Tracy did. She said it was a miracle he was still standing up, said there was blood everywhere. I spent all day phoning hospitals but nobody would tell me anything. I doubt he can have gone far, but I really wouldn’t know. Please find him Mr Bodie, this is all my fault! I never would have told Ray about the photoshoot if I’d known he would react like he did.”

Jamie looked like he was about to cry again and Bodie’s heart went out to him, glad that Ray had made such a good friend.

“How is your uncle? Is he likely to make trouble for you?”

“He’s more embarrassed than anything. I don’t think he’s used to people standing up to him. He spent a night in the hospital under observation but only because he virtually insisted on it. He was pretty high by all accounts when he discovered that Ray had trashed the studio and now he’s denying saying anything to Ray that might have earned him a broken nose.”

“Be careful of him, Jamie, from what you’ve told me, he’s dangerous. Don’t find yourself alone with him and if you’re worried about anything then call me or call the number that I gave you for CI5, they know who you are and what it’s about. Don’t hang around here, get yourself home to your family. I’ll call you there when I have news of Doyle.”

Jamie expelled a huge sigh, relieved that someone else had lifted the responsibility from his shoulders. Satisfied that Jamie was as safe as he could make him, Bodie turned his attentions to finding his missing ex-partner.

George Cowley was completely accommodating in the search for Doyle. CI5 had always looked after its own, even those that had chosen to go their own way. Headquarters performed hospital searches that young Jamie would never have been able to, but Bodie knew better. Doyle would lick his wounds in private if he survived them at all. Whatever bad blood there might be between them, Bodie knew that Ray would have come to him if he’d had no other option, no other place to go. Bodie mentally tallied the places that Doyle had left. He drew up beside the garage a little after ten that night.

Someone had been here, Bodie could see the stark lightbulb shining through the fanlights. The side door opened with no resistance and though Bodie entered cautiously, no one challenged him. He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the pallid light. The smell of old engine oil and forgotten dreams assailed his nostrils but it was the sight of the fallen figure in the corner that made his heart race. He rushed to Doyle, dread running through him. Forgetting every first aid lecture that he had ever attended, he turned the body quickly to be rewarded by an exhausted grunt.

“Ray? Oh Christ, Ray are you alright?”

Bodie could really have answered his own question. The man was ashen faced, covered in dried blood and was as light as a bird.

“Bodie?”

“Ray! It’s okay mate, I’m here. We’ll soon have you out of here.”

“Sorry, Bodie I guess I dropped off. If I’da known you were coming, I’da baked a cake!”

“Christ you bloody idiot, I thought that you were dead!”

“Nah, not dead. Not too chipper mind, but not dead.”

“Well no need to worry, sweetheart we’ll have an ambulance here soon and you can get all chipper again in a nice warm hospital.”

“No please, no hospitals, Bodie.”

“Sorry, Sunshine but you’ve been bleeding from somewhere, it’s non-negotiable I’m afraid.”

Bodie gently helped his friend to a sitting position and Doyle’s head dropped into his hands.

“Bodie? Is that really you there?”

“Yeah course it’s me, you pillock, now tell me where it hurts.”

“It hurts everywhere, but it’s nothing I didn’t deserve. What are you doing here anyway?”

“Saving your sorry arse, mate, now try and tell me where you’re injured.”

“But how the hell did you find me? How did you know I needed you?”

“Jamie told me. Now hold still while I try and get a proper look at you.”

“Jamie? Oh my God, Jamie! Shit I left him there on his own! Oh Christ I’ve fucked up so bad, I didn’t even think about Jamie!”

“It’s okay, Ray, Jamie’s just fine.”

“Is he? Is he really?”

“Yeah he’s okay, Ray. He’s on his way home.”

“Oh that’s good. He’s a good boy, Jamie. You can leave me here now, Bodie. What are you doing here anyway, how did you know I was here?”

“Let us just say that a little birdy told me. Now I’m just gonna call this in and we’ll be on our way to the hospital, okay?”

“No, no hospitals, Bodie. I’ll be okay right here. You can get back to that bird of yours, what was ‘er name? I’ll be alright, don’t you worry. I’ve missed you, Bodie. What are you doing here anyway?”

Hearing enough, Bodie gave up his rudimentary explorations and summoned the ambulance.

Doyle woke in a hospital bed. Something wrong must have happened as he had tubes going in and out of him. Knowing that he had bad things to remember, he didn’t try to think too hard. With amazement he noticed that Bodie was sitting beside him. Bodie was actually clutching hold of his hand. Okay perhaps things weren’t as bad as he’d first thought. Bodie was there. Things were always better when Bodie was there. Sudden desperation descended on him as he remembered. He’d left Bodie. Walked away shunning Bodies protection and care. He didn’t know how and he didn’t know why he’d done it but it surely wouldn’t be too long before Bodie turned his back on him. Perhaps this was the last goodbye?

Bodie loomed over him, smiling.

“Back with us then, sleepy head?”

“I guess so. I’m so sorry, Bodie.” Doyle replied faintly.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, mate."

“How long have I been out?”

“Nearly two days. It was only normal sleep though, not unconsciousness. By all accounts however, you should have a pretty big hangover by now.”

“I don’t feel me best, to be honest. How come you’re still here?”

“Well I wasn’t gonna just leave you, was I?”

Doyle looked up with dismay, knowing that was exactly what he had done to Bodie.

“Hey, come on, I didn’t mean anything by that, it’s just that this is the only place I want to be right now.”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve been here the whole two days, Bodie?”

“Most of them, yeah.” Bodie replied sheepishly.

“Christ, Cowley must have been doing his nut! How did you swing that?”

“Later, Ray. I’d better go and tell the staff that you’re awake. The doc would like a word or two.”

“Oh shit, that sounds ominous, I don’t like doctors at the best of times.”

“Don’t worry, you should like this one well enough, it’s Ben.”

Life as a hospital locum suited Ben Easterbrook. In his ten years since qualification, he had also bagged plenty of experience as a police surgeon and worked numerous shifts as physician to CI5. Liked by both peers and patients, he told it like it was and Doyle was relieved to have him. Before Bodie had the need to seek him out, the man in question popped his head around the door.

“Ah, Doyle, your back with us then are you? How’s the head?”

“I probably feel better than I deserve to, Doc.”

“Yes you’re probably right there, old son.” Ben chuckled. “How much do you remember about what happened to you?”

“Virtually everything. Well everything except the last two days that is. Come on then, Ben, tell me the worst.”

“Actually, Ray, you’ve been lucky. The swelling to your bonce had gone down quickly enough. We’ll run a few tests just to make sure that your reactions are all up to speed, but I’m not worried like I was when I first saw you. The blood you expelled actually came from your stomach. We’ve had a bit of a poke around, X rays and so on and it all seems to have stopped for the time being. You’ve got a fair amount of bruising of course but you don’t really need me to tell you that do you? If I’m to be perfectly frank with you, Ray, it’s not really the injuries you sustained the other night that are concerning me but your general condition as a whole. If you were up to your normal fitness level you would have brushed that beating off easily, but you’re not by a long way. You’re too underweight but your bloods indicate that there’s no reason for you to be so other than that you haven’t been eating enough. You were dangerously dehydrated when Bodie brought you in, so much so that you were incoherent. Now, as I said, I’m going to run a bunch of tests and when I’m satisfied, I’m going to let you out of here. There’s not an awful lot that we can do for you that you can’t be doing at home, but I do have a few conditions.”

“Conditions?” Doyle echoed.

‘Yes, Doyle conditions.”

“Oh God, out with it then.”

“Well I’m happy enough to let you go, but only if I know there’s someone looking after you. And that means making sure that you’re eating properly.”

Doyle looked at the doctor blankly.

“He can stay with me, Doc.” Bodie stated.

“Bodie, I couldn’t do that!” Doyle wailed.

“Do you not want to stay with me, Ray?” Bodie asked directly.

“No! No, I mean I couldn’t! I … I just couldn’t ask it of you, Bodie. I don’t deserve …”

“Ray, have you got a problem with staying at mine for a while?”

“Well no, ‘course not, but …”

“Ben, it’s fine. Ray can stay with me.”

“Well I’m glad that’s settled! Look, Ray I should really have brought the psyche team in on this, but I figured that you’ve had a shitty enough time as it is. I know that you were royally pissed, but the fact that you chose to go to a damp musty garage rather than a safe warm hospital strikes me as a man who’s not thinking right. You could have died in there if Bodie hadn’t have got to you, you must know that. I’m going out on a limb in letting you go, but I’ll be in close contact with Bodie, believe me. I want to know that you’re looking after yourself. If Bodie gives me the slightest indication that you’re not doing alright, I’ll have the psyches after your arse quicker than you can turn around and you’ll be right back in here, okay?”

A stymied Doyle nodded his acquiescence.

“Good. Now get a warm bath, a square meal and lots of rest. I don’t really want to be seeing you again any time soon.”

Bodie surreptitiously winked at the doctor who went in search of nurses to remove Doyle’s catheter and drip lines.

In the discharge lounge, Doyle looked down at himself. Even though the borrowed clothes looked ridiculous on him, he recognised them as Bodie’s and took comfort from their familiarity. When the prescription for antibiotics, vitamins and iron pills had been dispensed, Bodie gently guided him to the car. Within the hour he was sitting in Bodie’s lounge.

“Right, you heard the man, firstly, a warm bath.”

“You don’t have to do all this for me, Bodie.”

“Doyle, shut your face.”

“Yes, Bodie.”

Twenty minutes later, Doyle was surrounded in a halo of soft warm bubbles. His ribs ached and the catheter site stung but it was the desolate feeling of exhausted sadness which bothered him.

He was quietly thrilled to be in Bodie’s presence once again, but the pleasant feelings were overshadowed by the guilt he felt over the way he had left. He was grateful for Bodie springing him from the hospital but was under no illusions that his stay in Bodie’s flat would be a long one. He could hear Bodie tinkering about and before too long the smell of something delicious was emanating from the kitchen. Doyle wasn’t remotely hungry, he couldn’t remember that last time he actually had been but he was wryly amused and touched that Bodie appeared to be cooking.

Bodie closed the oven door and wandered back into the bathroom to see how his friend was faring.

“You alright, in there, Sunshine, need any help with anything?”

“Was just contemplating getting out again to be honest, mate, water’s getting a bit cold now.”

Bodie helped him to rise and as gently as possible manhandled him out of the bathtub and into a large fluffy towel.

“Feeling any better, Ray?” Bodied asked once Doyle had redressed in the borrowed clothes.

“Yeah much, thanks, Bodie. Look, mate, I’m sorry about all this, really I am.”

“Don’t give it a second thought, Ray. You’re welcome here for as long as you like. That, I guess is as long as there’s nowhere else you’d rather be?”

“You’d guess right there, old son. Think I’ve probably worn out my welcome in Surbiton. I’d better warn you, Bodie, it wouldn’t surprise me if PC Plod takes a fancy to feelin’ my collar. I did cause a fair bit of damage, with a probable GBH on top of that.”  

“Listen, Ray. You might have a bit of a temper and you might be a right scrappy little fighter at times, but I don’t think I’ve ever see you belt anyone without provocation and I doubt this occasion is the exception. I take it all your gear's still at Hayter’s?”

“Yeah it is. I never really had any plans except getting to the garage. Didn’t really figure I’d be needing much stuff again.” Doyle said quietly.

“Yeah, I suspected that much myself and so did the doc, so if you want to keep him off your back, maybe you’ll take a bit of advice?”

“Go on then, oh wise one, what do you suggest?”

“Later, we’ll talk. You can tell me as much or as little as you like, but we will talk, okay? You’re no better when you’re bottling things up than I am. When you’re up to it, we’ll go round and get your gear. We won’t be taking no for an answer alright, so you don’t need to worry about all that, for now you just need a little something to eat and a good long rest.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t much of an appetite these days, mate.”

‘I take it Ben was correct in his diagnosis, that you don’t have any God awful diseases that are making you that thin?”

“No he was right. I haven’t been eating much. It was a conscious decision at first, to eat a bit less, but just lately I’ve hardly even noticed what I’ve been doing. I don’t even get hungry any more. I’m sorry, I know how ridiculous that sounds and how stupid I’ve been, but it’s just something that’s just crept up on me.”

“Are you actually scared of eating?”

“Kind of. At least I’m worried about the effects that eating too much in one go might have on me now.”  

“Okay, I’ll be honest with you. I wanna help you through this and I’ll do anything in my power to be able to but you’ve gotta meet me half way. Say you’ll try and eat just a little, Ray. It’s just stew.”

“It smells nice. When did you learn to cook?”

“I always could, mate. I just chose to let those who seemed to be better at than me at it do it first. Who suggested that you should eat less? Was it Sam by any chance?”

“He pointed a few things out to me, yeah.”

“Such as?”

“That I was piling on the weight.”

“So how much did you ‘pile on’ then, Ray?”

“More than half a bloody stone!”

“Oh my God, I’m surprised the planet didn’t drop out of orbit!”

“Oh knock it off, Bodie, it made me feel bad, okay?”

“Okay, okay I’m sorry, but if you aren’t able to see that you went a bit too far with the regime, then we may have a bit of a problem.”

“I know things aren’t right. I’ve just felt so sick and tired for such a long time that I guess I’ve just given up caring.”

“Alright, don’t worry about all that now, just try and eat a little.”

Doyle turned his nose towards Bodie’s defrosted casserole with interest. To his surprise and Bodie’s hidden delight, he managed half a bowl of the stuff before declaring himself full. As his tired eyes started to fade, Bodie bundled him towards the bedroom where safe and warm, he was asleep in minutes. Loathed to leave the man he had worried about for years, Bodie settled into a chair as his own eyes started to droop.

Within half an hour, Bodie was roused to alertness, his senses prickling. The bed was shaking ever so slightly and Bodie realised with dismay that the person within it was crying. Immediately Bodie slipped in behind him and gathered him close. The louder the sobs became, the tighter Bodie held even though it was akin to grasping hold of a skeleton. Finally, Doyle turned into the embrace as a lover might and holding each other with a shared sense of caring, they dropped into sleep.

Doyle woke as the first rays of sun touched his skin. He was gently held in Bodie’s arms, somewhere he had dreamed of being for years. He savoured the moment, it would surely be the last time he ever experienced it. It had taken a while for him to realise that Sam Hayter had quietly and efficiently drawn him away from all his own friends. Sam had ignored the quiet pleas to meet Doyle’s loved ones. Wedding invites had been brushed off, offers of drinks spurned and Doyle vehemently encouraged to leave his past behind. Now Bodie was intent on marching round to the Maple Road house to reclaim Doyle’s gear. Most of his old clothes were stuffed in a suitcase gathering dust. A week ago, he hadn’t cared for any of his possessions, after all he couldn’t take them with him. Now he owed it to Bodie to survive. Bodie had taken care of him and Bodie deserved to see a result of that care. All that Doyle really wanted was a sterling silver rope link chain and a six inch study of the Santa Maria. Desperately hoping that further sleep might prolong his current state of safe belonging, he clamped his eyes shut.

Bodie woke as if trying to shake off a blissful dream. Doyle was in his arms, far too skinny but still looking like an angel nevertheless. If only Bodie had been brave enough, this might have been his view every morning but that was never to be now. Bodie hadn’t been good enough and Doyle had gone elsewhere. The man Doyle had gone to had hurt him. Bodie didn’t know all the details of that yet but what he did know was enough to make him inwardly seethe. The man would suffer for it someday. Maybe not soon and maybe without Doyle’s knowledge, but the man would pay, of that Bodie was sure.

Doyle was sleeping soundly and Bodie wondered how he could extricate himself without disturbing the slumbering man. A fragile trust had built between them that Bodie was loathe to break with misunderstood intentions. He crept from the bed and took himself off to the shower.

Doyle roused with the dipping of the bed. When he came to, he found himself alone. It was a feeling he’d have to get used to even though it felt like a knife through his heart. He could smell bacon frying and instantly thought of Bodie. In the long time that he’d spent living with Sam Hayter he’d never woken to the smell of food cooking. Wishing for a respite from his life, Doyle wondered how long Bodie was likely to put up with him. Bodie wanted him to eat. The bacon did indeed smell delicious but thoughts of Sam had turned his guts to water and he bolted to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he’d hopefully cleaned up enough to mask the grim smells he emanated and went to find Bodie in the kitchen.

Bodie looked up sharply as Doyle entered the kitchen on shaky legs.

“Ray! Sit down before you fall down, you look bloody dreadful, mate!”

“I’m sorry, Bodie, Christ I’m just so bloody sorry about everything!”

“Hey come on enough of that, what have you got to be sorry about, Sunshine?”

“I know I shouldn’t be here and I’m so grateful for you taking me in, Christ knows nobody else would have done.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I want you here you dumb crud! If you so much as think of walking out of that door until you’re fit and ready then I’ll bloody well hunt you down and drag you right back here!”

Doyle looked at up, dazed. Bodie did seem to genuinely want him here. Forgetting that he was dressed in little more than a dressing gown, needed to eat and stank of shit, he began to speak.

“I was never enough for him. I tried but it was just never enough. I so wanted it to work because I loved him or at least I thought I did. I didn’t even know him. We argued a lot. Over money mainly.”

Bodie was loath to interrupt. Doyle needed to talk, he’d never heal until he did and Bodie didn’t want to distract him but there were things he needed to know.

“Why did you argue over money, Ray?” he asked gently.

“He didn't pay me properly. It was okay at first, he’d pay me a hundred nicker a week in cash. Trouble is, when he was away, I never got paid. When he’d get back, he’d pay me for that week but he’d miss out the wages I’d earned in his absence. I often brought it up, but it usually resulted in a row. He said that I was becoming obsessed by money. He was right, to be honest. You soon become obsessed by money when you haven’t got much of it. I tried to brush it aside, I didn’t have much to pay out for after all as when Sam was home he always bought us meals. I liked the odd pint with Jamie but apart from that I didn’t go out much. I didn’t really pay into the household, well until Christmas that was.”

“Christmas?”

“Yeah Christmas. I didn’t go to Derby last year. I tried to tell myself it’s ‘cos I wanted me and Sam to spend our first Christmas together but the simple fact was that I didn’t have money for the fare. Sam got doped up and had a real go at me. Basically said that I was a gold digger who didn’t pay towards the bills.”

“What! He’d set you up to take a fall?”

“I never really wanted to admit that, but yes I think he did. I’d just became so dependent on him. I’d left my career and the only sort of life that I’d really known. I was living in a place with people that I didn’t really like and it was all my own fault.”

“People, what people?”

“Oh, Sam’s lodgers. They alone pay for the house. I’ve no idea what he’s worth in his own right and don’t really care. I was constantly skint though and still am. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed working at the gallery, I turned out to be quite good at it though it did strike me as kinda pointless a lot of of the time.”

“Jamie told me that Sam hurt you?”

“I dropped a camera. It was my own fault, I should never have touched it, it was Sam’s work tool and I broke it. Sam punched my lights out. I accepted that beating and always will, but afterwards, Sam did a line and then tried to make out that I’d actually injured myself.”

“And you just took that that did you?”

“I’d been taking a lot of things, Bodie. Sam had always done things which made me feel a bit uncomfortable.”

“Such as?” said Bodie full of dread.

“Oh little things mainly. He’d yank my hair before suggesting I got it cut, tread on my feet before telling me that my shoes were past it, pinched me to get my attention, that sort of thing. I just put those things down to horseplay really. I never faced up to it, let anger get the better of me because I could have killed him, Bodie had I let my temper flare, so I never did. He wasn’t the enemy after all, he was supposed to be my lover.”

“The lover you knew used Class A drugs, which I know you hate?”

“The first time he cheated on me I didn’t really care about the drugs anymore.”

“What? He fuckin’ cheated on you?”

“Oh yeah. I spied him with birds and blokes in his studio when he was supposed to be away on assignment.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you leave him?”

“It was too late by then. He’d drained me of my money and my health. I closed my mind to all of it, pretended it wasn't happenin'. I had a roof over my head. I had my friend Jamie. I could function from day to day, that just had to be enough.”

“Didn’t you ever think about what you’d left behind?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Bodie of course I did! I’d lost my job, my independence, my family and I’d lost you! The only reason I didn’t end up in that shitty garage months before, is all due to Jamie. As soon as he was safely out of there I was ready for it all to stop.”

“So, Ray, you DID mean to off yourself?” Bodie asked quietly.

Doyle sat stock still for a moment before replying. Breaking into a slight smile, he replied in a whisper.

“It was the only control I had left.”

“Oh, Ray you daft sod, why didn’t you come to me?”

“What and drag you down with me? You tried to warn me I was making a mistake and I wouldn’t even listen to you. Why on earth would you have given me a second chance?”

“Because I love you, you idiot! I may not be rolling in cash or live in a swanky house but I love you more than life itself, Ray Doyle, I always have and I always bloody well will!”

Doyle stared at Bodie in confusion.

“I…I don’t understand, Bodie. Why would you even say that?”

“Because it’s true, Ray. I’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted to hear. I know how much you loved Sam and I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you, but I know how much it hurts, because I feel it too, every single bloody day!”

“You are kidding me, right?” You’re just saying all this to make me feel better?”

“Quite honestly I told you because I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I didn’t think it would make you feel better, I thought you’d be horrified, but you had a right to know. If it changes things too much, I can find somewhere else for you to stay, somewhere safe if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Let me just get this straight in my mind, when you say ‘love me’ you mean …”

“Want you, need you, fancy you, desire you, how many other ways would you like me to put it?”

‘No … no, I just can’t believe that.”

“Sorry, Sunshine but you know I’d never lie to you.”

Doyle thought furiously to himself for a moment.

“But you can’t mean that? I mean, you love beautiful women. Okay so you might also love beautiful men, but you couldn’t love _me_. Why on earth would you say that you love me?”

“Ray, do you know how many times I’ve longed to touch your face? Just to touch it, just the once. The first time I laid eyes on you I knew you were the most beautiful thing that I’d ever seen. I never told you, didn’t want to frighten you away from me. Needed to protect you and I wasn’t gonna trust anyone else to the job. I’d forever keep quiet about how I felt as long as I could keep you safe. And you did just the same for me, you scrappy little bugger. Six months after being paired with you, my life had changed forever. I’d never trust anyone else like I trusted you and I knew that I’d never love anyone again as much as I loved you.”

“Oh, Bodie why did you never tell me this before?”

“Oh I dunno, p’raps it’s cos I didn’t want to get my head kicked in? P’raps it’s just that I didn’t want to lose my best friend.”

“I wouldn’t have kicked you, Bodie, you pillock, you should have told me!”

“Ray, I didn’t even know that you had the slightest interest in men!”

“Well you sure did when I started up with Sam!”

“Was a bit damn late by then though, wasn’t it!”

“Oh, Bodie if only you’d said something! Sam Hayter would have been a dim and distant memory by now if you had.”

“Eh, what do you mean by that?”

“I was only attracted to Sam because he showed a flicker of interest in me. If you had seemed to show the slightest interest yourself, Sam wouldn’t have stood a chance. It was you I wanted, Bodie, always had been. Sam was second best and the fact that I walked away from you for him makes me hate him all the more.”

“Oh, Christ what a bloody mess!”

“Not really, when you think about it. If I’m not wrong, we’ve just finally admitted that we love each other.”

“As long as this isn’t just some rebound thing for you?”

“Hardly. Sam hadn’t even touched me for weeks and that was only to punish …” he finished abruptly.

“What? What were you about to say, Ray?”

“Nothing, it really doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does, what were you about to say, about Sam punishing you?”

“When Sam felt I needed punishing, he’d take it out on me in bed.” Doyle replied quietly.

“My God, you’re joking? What did he do?”

“Oh nothing terrible, he didn’t really hurt me, but he made sure I didn’t get any pleasure from the experience.”

“What the fuck did he feel that he needed to punish you for, exactly?”

“Oh anything he liked. Putting on the weight, not dressing right, not working hard enough, not doing things the minute he asked me to. I put up with it all because he told me he that he loved me.”

“Oh, Ray, sweetheart, that’s wasn’t love. That was about as far from love as you could possibly get. That was someone who enjoyed controlling someone else because they were totally out of control themselves.

Loving someone is counting down the hours and minutes until you get to see them again. It’s about feeling the need to cry if their plans change and you don’t get to see them at all. It’s about putting someone else’s wishes and dreams before your own.”

“But … but that’s how I felt about you, Bodie. I always felt that way but I could never tell you that, I thought you’d wanna kill me if you knew. Walking away from you was so hard but Sam was offering me the sort of love I craved and I wasn’t gonna turn it down. Are you telling me that that’s the sort of thing you’d ever want from me?”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out?”

“Oh yeah, what’s that then?”

“Let me come over there and kiss you until I can’t breathe anymore.”

“I … I couldn’t let you do that, Bodie, much as I might want you to.”

“Any particular reason why not?”

“Well I stink for a start …”

“I don’t really care.”

“Well I must admit, I can’t think of any other reasons.”

“Excellent. Shall I proceed then?”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t want to stop you.”

Bodie raced around his kitchen table as far as his feet could take him. As he suddenly caught the eyes of his ex-partner, a thousand thoughts, memories and desires surged in his blood. Overwhelmed by feelings of protective care, Bodie felt that he was coming home. He swept the tiny man into his arms and hugged him tightly. As he drew away, Doyle stared at him in amazement.

“You really wanna do this Bodie?”

“Do you really want me to?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Well that’s alright then.”

The initial flush of urgency dimmed as Bodie first took Ray Doyle’s lips with his own. Doyle hadn’t expected gentleness from Bodie, didn’t really expect it from anyone anymore and was silently stunned by the almost chaste kiss. As Bodie tentatively touched his face, he leaned into the cupping palm silently begging for the beloved contact. Doyle’s next words almost shattered Bodie’s world.

“I dunno if I can ever be enough for you, Bodie.”

“I’m sorry? What the heck do you mean by that?”

“Just as it sounds. There’s nothing special about me. I couldn’t compete with some of the birds you’ve been out with, wouldn’t want to. I want you, Bodie but I don’t want you settle for second best out of some sort of loyalty to our past.”

“Ray Doyle if there’s one thing about you that will never change it’s the sheer amount of tripe that you come out with! Have you any idea how long I’ve wanted you?”

“No. No I haven’t.”

“Well it probably runs into years. How long have we known each other?”

“About ten years.”

“Well there you go then. I’ve loved you now for ten whole years.”

Doyle didn’t know what to say. He almost stopped his bottom lip from quivering. Almost.

“Im … I’m sorry I’m not up to full sex. Might not be for a little while, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Ray for Christ’s sake! Yes I want to make love with you, I always have done but it’s not deal breaker! I want you in my life. If we never have anything more than that one kiss, I want you in my life. I won’t pressure you though, Ray. I don’t want to scare you or be your last option. If being with me isn’t what you want then you can tell me. Any time you can tell me, I’m not in this if you’re not in it too. I’ll help you all you need but I can do that from a distance if that’s what you want. I’m not perfect, never claimed to be. All I can offer you is to love you forever if that’s what you’d like.”

“Oh Christ, Bodie that sounds like just about the best thing I’ve ever heard! I know I’m used goods after Sam. He’s fucked my head up a bit and I’ve got a few things to get through but I’ll get there if you’re happy to stand by me.”

Two nights later Bodie was cheekily looking up into widened green eyes.

“I’m not made of glass, Ray! What the hell’s stopping you?”

“I … I just can’t, Bodie.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Of COURSE I do!”

“Well just do it then before I die of frustration!”

Banishing his fears, Doyle sank himself into the willing body with a sigh of resigned relief. Half an hour later he panted alongside his sated bed mate feeling like the happiest and luckiest man alive.

The next morning, Doyle was full of practicalities.

“I can’t hurt your career, Bodie. Being with me could mean that.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I quit.”

“WHAT?”

“I quit CI5 as a field agent. Turned out I wasn’t so good at being one all on my tod. I went to see Cowley and he was having similar concerns. Thing is he was also having concerns all of his own.”

“Tell me the worst.”

“Well it’s his tale to tell really but CI5 has now survived two governments and he’s not expecting it to survive another. The powers that be are happier to spread the budget more thinly amongst more agencies. The Police force will become increasingly endowed with firepower, the Army will encroach all the more into domestic situations and wars will be conducted more via computers than on the ground. Old agents like me who quit won’t be replaced and no more new recruits will drafted for the CI5 that was.”

“What the hell are you doing for money now then?”

“Ah, playing Cowley’s game, Ray. Doing the job that he had earmarked for me once he knew that CI5 would finally lose its funding. I’m now in training for the ‘New CI5’. It’s all very well the Government dismissing departments, but someone has to take the fall out for that. I’m training to become a consultant between our old mob and the Armed forces. It’s basically one of Cowley’s old jobs but he’s been canny as always and turned his own post into at least five new ones. The consultant liaison for the police position still hasn’t been filled. I know that it won’t be until Cowley’s spoken with you.”

“What you think Cowley wants to give me a job?”

“I absolutely know he does, Ray.”

“But I let him down! He wouldn’t want me, I walked out on him for Christ’s sake!”

“Ray, you left a pressurised, dangerous job in the hope of getting something that you might like better. Everything’s changed a bit since you left. Okay so your last thing didn’t work out, but so what? As soon as Cowley heard that you’d gone missing he bade me to bring you home and get you to take up the post. I’m not gonna do that, that’s his job but the position has got your name pencilled on it if you want it.”

“But that still doesn’t leave us anywhere does it? We’d still be working for the bleedin’ Government. I’d rather sweep streets and love you than work for them and have to deny you!”

“It’s 1980, Ray. Things are changing. I told Cowley he could forget his job if I couldn’t live with whomever I wanted to and it seems I’m not the only one to have said so. I’m due to move soon. We won’t have allocated flats any more, we have a housing allowance which is far more lucrative. We'll still have security measures put in but what we get up to in our private homes is our own concern. Even if you’re not interested in Cowley’s offer, I could still insist that I be allowed to live with you. No point in being a revered ‘consultant’ if you can’t enjoy the perks!”

At the beginning of the week, a stunned Doyle met Bodie for lunchtime coffee.

“I can’t believe it, he called me ‘Ray’! All those years and he NEVER called me Ray!”

“I know, it’s a different atmosphere altogether isn’t it, mate?”

“It … it’s just weird! Cowley was almost casual with me.”

“We’ve all gone through that! Me, Murph, Jax and Ruth were all stunned but we’re getting used to it.”

“How can I possibly liaise with the Police, Bodie? I don’t know if I can really do it. I shopped them and then they kicked me out straight into Cowley’s tender clutches.”

“Ray most of the coppers you shopped are either sacked or dead. You HAVE to have more confidence in yourself again. Did you take the job?”

“Um, yes, Bodie, yes as it happens, I did!”

“Good! We have a duel allowance now then. Fancy house hunting for the rest of the afternoon?”

On Friday afternoon, Bodie uttered the words that Doyle dreaded.

“When’s Sam likely to be home, Sunshine?”

“Bodie I had hardly any idea when I actually lived there, but weekends are the most likely.”

“Best pay a little visit tomorrow then and see how the land lies then, hadn’t we?”

“My stuff really isn’t that important, Bodie.”

“Um, is that old pair of jeans still amongst it all? The faded ones with the patch?”

“Yeah they’re in there somewhere.”

“In that case, Sunshine, your stuff is priceless. We go tomorrow, no arguments.”

~~~oOo~~~

Doyle scanned the house from within Bodies pool car. Something was going on, lots of black people were trying to stuff gear into an ageing Escort van. As Winston’s smiling face came into view, Doyle leapt from the car in welcome.

“Ray, mon, what are you doing here? Heavens we thought you were dead, my friend!”

“My death was vastly overrated, Winston. Are you moving out?”

“Yes. My Maisie, she qualified! We’ve got a flat together! I’m so happy with that and so happy to see you!”

“How long before you think you might be clear of this place?”

“Well this is the last load, Ray mon, why?”

“Because something might be going down and I want you to be well clear if it does. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to know you afterwards, okay? I know where you work, I’ll call you okay?”

“Anytime, Ray mon, me and Maisie will always be your friends.”

Almost as if was meant to happen, a taxi cab pulled into the place that Winston’s friends van had vacated.

When Sam Hayter walked towards his own front door Bodie’s sudden appearance in front of him was somewhat of a surprise.

“Excuse me, Sir but my friend would like to collect his things if that’s all the same with you?”

Hayter looked at Bodie and then glanced towards Doyle.

“If you think I’m letting that prick back into my house, then you can whistle!”

“What a qualified CI5 agent, Mr Hayter? Anyone would think that you had something to hide?”

“What? Don’t give me that crap, you’re bluffing!”

“Let Ray come out with his stuff or you might well find out. If you continue to piss me off, the then two gentlemen from the drugs squad in the car behind me, might have to be called to work.”

Hayter almost boiled with rage. After a failed shoot with absolute imbeciles, the last thing he needed to come home to was this crap.

Doyle emerged with two suitcases.

Doyle ignored Hayter and Hayter ignored Doyle.

Bodie couldn’t let things lie however.

“You’ve put yourself on our radar, Hayter. When you fucked with Ray you fucked with the big boys. Enjoy your last weeks of freedom, my colleagues behind will be watching you constantly from now on.”

~~~oOo~~~

At six o’clock on a black January morning, Doyle woke in his cosy Chelsea bedroom and reached for the lamp. Bodie never minded being woken on mornings like this, it was their favourite time of the day.

Before the lamplight had chance to permeate Bodie’s eyes, Doyle laid back and smiled, marvelling at how wonderful his life had become. If truth be told, they were both still recovering from the best Derby Christmas they had ever known. He’d never really got around to telling his mother about his new relationship with Bodie - had never really needed to. Mrs Doyle had always doted on Bodie like a favoured son in law and now the position was official, Doyle knew that she quietly swooned with happiness for them.

Work was surprisingly good. Swapping streets for desks had been challenging but the partners had employment for life and Doyle was earning more money than he'd ever need. Chasing miscreants from the comfort of an office was far less strenuous than Cowley’s CI5 had ever been so the partners exercised as much to keep in shape as for the sheer enjoyment of it. Doyle had regained his love of running whether it be done in the timeless cemeteries or on the squash court. As long as the long suffering Bodie was by his side, he was content. Bodie was still constantly but quietly concerned for his partner’s welfare, but Doyle didn’t give him much to worry about. Revelling in his new life and new relationship, the odd counselling session and Bodie’s breakfasts, ensured that Doyle remained in the best of health.

An undignified snort alerted Doyle to the gradual wakening of his partner, and with his heart swelling, he turned towards the man who had brought him home. As a watery smile greeted his own, he reached to cup the lovely face with a gentle hand. Once the messy but exquisite business of loving his partner to wakefulness was over, Doyle donned his robe and headed towards the kettle. Sifting through the mail, his eyes alighted on a creamy envelope the type of which would normally precede a wedding or baptism. Frowning slightly, Doyle wondered which of his myriad of sisters or cousins had imparted good news which he had since forgotten. He carefully opened the silky envelope and smiled as he read through the first few lines.

Thomas and Valerie Hayter cordially invite Mr Raymond Doyle and Mr William Bodie to attend and celebrate the graduation of their son,

James Thomas Hayter.

~~~oOo~~~

Doyle smiled to himself wondering if he could ever remember a day that he’d been so happy. When a stranger tapped him on the shoulder, he was reluctant to relieve his contented status and brushed the fingers away.

“Mr Doyle?”

“Who wants to know?” Anticipating the police he became sullen and angry.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you from the celebrations and you probably wouldn’t want to meet with me anyway, but I just wanted to get a look at you if that’s okay?”

Doyle looked at the man in confusion. The police wouldn’t approach him like this and he was now half interested in who had spoken to him.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Doyle. Perhaps this isn’t the time, but I saw no other opportunity. My name is Richard Rhys.”

Suddenly a penny dropped for Doyle and he eyed the man in disbelief. The quietly spoken newcomer was a big man, not fat by any means but tall and well-muscled. He spoke in the softest of Welsh accents and suddenly, his gentle, bearded face attracted Doyle like a magnet.

“As I said, I don’t want to drag you away from the festivities, but if and when you find yourself with a spare five minutes, I’d really like to buy you a cup of tea?”

“You can buy one for me now, Richard. I know who you are. Jamie obviously does too so they’ll live without me for a while.”

The kindly looking Welshman looked relieved and drew Doyle towards the café.

Finally sitting with beverages which neither of them bothered to drink, they started to talk.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Doyle but my wish to meet with you was one born out of pure selfishness.”

“How so?”

“I guess I just wanted to convince myself that I wasn’t the only one.”

Doyle looked at the man guardedly. “You’ll have to elaborate. You came to me, remember?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Doyle. I’ve no wish whatsoever to upset you. Jamie’s mentioned you and I think about you often.”

“Jamie’s mentioned you as well. That’s the only reason I’m giving you any time.”

“I really am so very sorry, Mr Doyle. I’m taking you away from your day. Please forgive me and get back to your friends.”

“No. I’M sorry, I was short with you. Anything to do with Sam Hayter seems to have that effect on me.”

“In that case, the last thing you need is to talk with me, I’ll go …”

“No, stay. I’m sorry, Richard. I think I know what it took for you to talk to me. Please tell me what you need to. And please call me Ray.”

“Ah, Ray, thank you. I have no idea what you see when you look at me. I’ve only been a professional artist for six years. Before that I was a lecturer in sports sciences. I was a public schoolboy see, earned my own scholarship and everything. Played rugger in the first eleven, did a bit of boxing and then at school I learned to fence. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a violent man, but some of my experiences at school made me become interested in self-defence and it went from there. I discovered martial arts and contact sports and I found out I was good at them, really good. I’d never run away from a fight but I wouldn’t dream of ever starting one either. I’d been a PT instructor for thirteen years before I knackered my left arm in a skiing accident. Fortunately, I had a good insurance policy. I couldn’t retire but I could start up as a painter.”

“I take it you’re right handed then?”

“Yes, Ray. The right one has always painted, though until then I never had the excuse to be able to take it seriously. I was able to buy my house outright and I didn’t really have that many other outgoings that I needed to pay for. Then I met Sam of course.”

“Can you put it in a nutshell for me? I don’t really need to know all of your personal business, but I guess that I need to know that I wasn’t the only one as well.”

“That man wrecked my life, Ray. It was great at first. He ‘discovered’ me at an expo I did. It was all so exciting for a while. I’d always kept quiet about being homosexual though I was never really ashamed of it. When this bloke singled me out I was astounded. I was just a boy from the valleys, see? Suddenly he wanted to make me the next best thing. It was a dream come true, painting for a living and waking up next to this really sexy guy.”

“But it turned sour?”

“I sold my house to part pay for the gallery. The money was swallowed up in weeks. Sam was only really interested in somewhere to show his photos off. Nobody really wanted to buy them. I had to get tough to protect my investment. I brought in young artists and then the place started to sell. Sam hated that though. We were making money but I knew that I’d made a massive mistake.”

“What did he do to you, Richard?”

“I don’t know if I can really tell you all of it, Ray. I’m so ashamed you see? I was this big brawny Welshman after all.”

“I’m sorry, I said I didn’t want to know your personal business, Richard …”

“He beat the living shit out of me if you must know. I had a good two stones on him with training to match but I just couldn’t hit him back. I loved him, see? I could roll with the punches mainly but after a while I didn’t bother to try anymore. Felt like I deserved it you see?”

“Yes, I see all too well.”

“Jamie made me see sense. Made me walk away from it all. I was almost penniless even after Sam paid me out but that was better than living in a nightmare. I went back to Wales. I hadn’t been there for nearly twenty years but I’ve made some sort of life for myself. The worst of it was, I don’t think Sam wanted to be like that, not really. When he wasn’t high was charming. He just had to feel that he could control everything, you know?”

“Yep, I sure know.”

“I’ll never be rid of the shame, Ray. It wasn’t easy growing up where I did being like I was. I think that’s why I tried everything I could to prove that I was a man you know?”

Ray Doyle never attended The Magistrate’s Court when Sam Hayter was tried for Class ‘A’ possession. He never punched the air when the judge saw through Hayter’s blustering attempts to blame everyone but himself for his own misdemeanours.

Six weeks later the public shaming and the harsh reality that his own controlling ways cut no ice in Belmarsh, caused Hayter to end his life. Still Doyle didn’t react.

Hayter was part of Doyle’s past, he felt mildly sorry for the people left behind, the discredited parents, the hardworking cleaner, the disillusioned girl who now had to source another bed for her one and only to rest his lazy head. None of it really affected Ray Doyle anymore. Occasionally he met up with the locum psyche, Doctor Ross if he felt a wobble coming on, not least as it was a condition of his contract. He rarely left a medical meeting feeling less than happy however. He was fit in mind and body, Bodie had ensured that.

Doyle still hated the dressing to the nines that some meetings required, but was always thrilled that at the end of the day he could shed the clothes like an unwanted skin, don jeans, shirt and little else and finally be himself again. Surprised that he was actually liked and admired by the contemporaries he so often had to lock horns with, he’d found a peace within himself that he could happily take to the end of his days. The only one he really wanted to shine for however, was Bodie. Bodie who had always stood by him, always watched his back and had finally brought him home.

Doyle looked through his window onto a fading London summers afternoon. He absently smiled at the dust motes playing in the air before being dragged back from his reverie by his partner.

“You just about ready, Ray? I might boil to death if we don’t get out of here in the next thirty seconds. First orders has been called and there’s an ice cold beer with my name on it!”

Turning to face his smiling partner, Doyle grabbed his oldest, scruffiest jacket with the thought that as the sun went down the night might turn chilly on them.

~~~oOo~~~

As a blazing sun goes down over London, two happy, laughing, confident men make their way purposefully towards their local hostelry. Nothing will come between them and their hallowed destination, they are hot, thirsty and need to unwind. Later when the heat cools off, they will unwind in a much more intimate fashion. For now they will drink and laugh and bicker in much the same way as they always have done. They have nothing more to fear and nothing more to find. They have found each other, found their future, and finally both found their way back home.

End.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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